Two Worlds Apart
by ladygris
Summary: Three years after Bourne Legacy, Aaron and Marta have brought down Outcome and its sister programs. Aaron tracks down Jason Bourne and brings him home. As he tries to balance his two worlds, he and Marta grow apart. Then, an old enemy returns, one who will use any leverage they can to capture the elusive Outcome 5. Aaron/Marta, Jason/Nicky
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing related to the Bourne series. Any and all original characters and/or plotlines are my own and not intended to represent real persons or events. Any similarity is entirely coincidental and not the intention of the author.

**Author's Note:** So, here's my first Bourne series story. After watching The Bourne Legacy, I found myself intrigued with Aaron and Marta's relationship and the possibilities. This story starts out slower than most, but I do promise it's not all angst and romance. There is some action in it. It _is_ a Bourne story, after all. A huge thanks to **Ani-maniac494** and **theicemenace** for beta-ing, listening to my brilliant ideas, and giving me the chance to whine when writer's block set in. Due to events in life, there will be two updates per week at present: Mondays and Fridays.

Also, this story is a sequel to my one-shot "Christmas In Sydney." I don't think it's necessary to read that one, but some events will be referenced throughout the course of the story.

A quick glossary:

JSOC: Joint Special Operations Command  
NRAG: National Research Assay Group

All that said, I hope you enjoy the story, and let me know what you think!

oOo

Johannesburg, South Africa. A city of four to ten million, depending on the census and area included. As the largest city in South Africa, it also forms one of the biggest economic centers in the world. It claims the right as the largest city in the world not near a river or coastline, though numerous streams and tributaries run through the suburbs. And it is a wonderful place to hide.

Andrew Riordan walked quickly through the streets, heading to one of the poorer neighborhoods. There, no one looked twice at two men in a fistfight, gunshots were a regular occurrence, and neighbors left others alone. No one wanted to know what the other person was involved in.

The setting sun cast long shadows as Andrew rounded a corner. He watched his shadow stretch in front of him, knowing he could use it to his advantage. Breaking into a light jog, he put some distance between himself and his pursuer, ducking unexpectedly around the corner. Pressing his back against the wall, he inched close to the corner and waited. Several other people walked along this path, but he'd already identified them as civilians. No, the man chasing him was professional. An operative. Someone Andrew respected and feared all at once.

How had they found him? Andrew pushed the thought from his mind and focused on his current situation. His hand crept under his knee-length wool coat and closed around the grip of his sidearm. Drawing it out of the holster where he kept it at his back, he flicked off the safety and let out a deep breath.

The operative wasn't casting a shadow. That worried Andrew since it meant the other man knew he was hiding somewhere. He listened, breathing softly, as he heard footsteps on the gravel. The operative—whoever he was—made no attempt to disguise his approach though he did take precautions not to be killed instantly.

When he got close enough, Andrew struck with speed and strength. It had been almost three years since he'd left the States, and he'd dodged several others searching for him in that time. But this man was different. About his height, maybe an inch shorter, the operative matched him blow for blow. There was a strength and gracefulness to his movements that Andrew admired, and he saw the focus on the other man's face even as the operative disarmed him.

The fight raged down the dead end alley, neither man giving ground as they struggled for dominance. But something struck Andrew as odd. While the man did everything to prevent himself from being harmed, including knocking Andrew across the alley, he didn't attack. Not even when Andrew left him an opportunity. That confused him. Why would this man—this _operative—_go to the trouble to track him down if he didn't want to fight?

The fight ended as quickly as it began. Andrew finally gained enough room to roll and grab his discarded gun, though he could have used any of his knives. As he came to his knees and then his feet, weapon aimed at the other man's head, he blinked. The operative had also drawn his weapon and sited it in on Andrew's head.

Breathing a bit harder from the fight, Andrew frowned. "What do you want?"

"To talk." The operative's voice was rough, though he showed no signs of injury or weariness. Andrew studied him. The other man wore jeans, a gray t-shirt, and a tailored leather jacket. Combat boots completed the look, and gray-blue eyes stared out of a face as determined and hard as Andrew's own. This man had seen life and death and had come out victorious.

"So talk," Andrew replied. "How did you find me?"

The operative quirked a grin. "I have my ways. Took me six months, though."

"You here to kill me?"

"No." The man released his hold on his gun, showing Andrew the palm of his right hand as he used his left to obviously flick the safety back on before stashing the gun at the small of his back. He used the same slow, easy moves that someone would use when gentling a spooked animal. "I really am here to talk."

"Who are you?"

Those gray-blue eyes blinked once. "Aaron," he said softly. "My name's Aaron Cross."

"Cross?" Andrew tried to place it in his mind. "You're Treadstone? Blackbriar?"

"Outcome." Cross's face hardened for just a moment. "Same idea as Treadstone and Blackbriar, only for JSOC, not the CIA."

"They send you after me?"

"Nope."

Another long moment passed as Andrew studied the other man. Cross's face was open, and his eyes honest. Though it could be an act. He had no idea what Outcome was, but Cross had received similar training in his lifetime. Finally, he nodded and lowered his weapon. "Jason," he said. "My name's Jason Bourne."

oOo

Jason Bourne, a.k.a. Andrew Riordan, lived in a modest apartment near the business center of Johannesburg. He unlocked his home and warily allowed Aaron Cross inside. Cross moved with an awareness of his surroundings at all times, his face staying open and friendly in spite of the way he assessed the windows, escape routes, hiding places for weapons, and how far he had to fall if he went through a window. It was instinctive, Jason knew, and neither man could turn off that side of their brains. Treadstone and Outcome—whatever _that_ was—had drilled it so far into them that they'd die before that instinct faded.

Moving to the refrigerator, Jason pulled out two beers and offered one to his guest. Cross accepted it and, after raising it in toast to his host, took a long drink as he perched on one of the stools near the counter. "I'm sure you're wondering why I tracked you down."

"Yeah, I am." Jason stayed in the kitchen, knowing he had three knives within arm's reach should Cross try anything. "Who sent you?"

"I did." Cross lifted his eyes from where he'd been studying the label on the South African beer and met Jason's confused gaze. "I came to tell you it's over. You can come home."

"Home?"

"To the States, if you want. You're free."

"Men like us are never free."

A sardonic smile touched Cross's face. "Maybe, but they're not looking for you anymore. Or me."

"You? Why'd they go after you?"

"I didn't die." Cross sighed and pushed aside his drink. "I was part of Project Outcome, a program similar to Treadstone except they used chems—medications—to help them 'upgrade' their people. They took people like me, those who should have died but didn't and couldn't think for themselves, duped us into joining the program, hopped us up on all these drugs, and turned us loose. When the Senate and Landy's little stunt got too close, Ric Byer shut it down."

Jason knew well what "shutting down" a program meant. "They killed everyone."

"Except me."

"So you went after them?"

"I went after chems." Cross shrugged. "Downside to the enhancements is you gotta keep taking the meds. I found Marta," he said softly, "and she helped me viral out."

"What's that mean?"

"My enhancements are permanent." Cross met his eyes. "It took us two years to hide from Byer and bring them down. But we did. I went home, bought a house, and started looking for you."

"Why?"

"Why find you?" Cross reached for his drink and lifted it to his lips. "You're Jason Bourne. In our circles, you're a legend. Why not bring the legend home?"

Jason laughed at that. The idea that he was a legend. . . .It was preposterous, at best. Besides, he wasn't sure he wanted to go "home." The United States wasn't exactly the friendliest place. And Marie had been German.

Then, he thought about Nicky. Where was she? Had she survived? What had happened to her life since he put her on that bus in Tangier and told her to hide?

Cross clearly saw the thoughts moving through his eyes. The man stood. "Think about it," he said as he tapped the countertop. His hand left behind a card with an address in Arlington Heights, near Chicago. "You need anything, you'll find me there."

Jason watched as Cross left his apartment, not looking back and clearly unconcerned about being attacked. He stood in place, his own drink growing warm in the heat as he picked up the small card and studied it. The address memorized, he used the sink to run water over the card until it became a pile of mush. Dropping it in the trash, he downed the last of his beer and braced his hands on the counter.

So, he could go home. Now what?

oOo

The spacious two-story house with dormer windows sat on a quiet street in Arlington Heights, Illinois. Halfway through the afternoon, the place was deserted as parents were at work and children were in school. Very few saw the beat-up Ford pickup ease into the wide driveway. It rumbled briefly as the owner turned it off, not parking it in the two-car garage, and then a slender man stepped out. He reached behind the seat and yanked out a black duffel bag. Tossing the bag over his right shoulder, he sorted through his keys with his left hand until he found the right one.

Aaron Cross stood just inside the door of his home and looked around. Directly in front of him, a hallway led to the stairs, a bathroom, and his office to the right. To his left, the L-shaped living area held traditional, worn furniture scattered over the hardwood floor. The kitchen sat directly in the center, the walls broken by archways and cut-outs to give one a line of sight through the entire place. Only the bathroom and office were completely closed off from everything.

Aaron sighed deeply as he dropped his keys into a tray resting on a long table to his right. His wallet and a bit of loose change joined his keys, and he let his duffel bag thump on the floor while he wearily pulled off his leather jacket. International travel always wore him out, even if he rarely allowed it to show. He'd done it for so long now that the jet lag and time zones barely affected him physically. No, he hated the mental strain, the questions of whether he'd be stopped at customs and detained or allowed through. Until six months ago, that possibility could have meant his death. Or Marta's.

A light blinked on the answering machine near his keys, and he pressed the button. A moment later, Marta's voice came through the speakers. "_Hey, it's me. I know we were supposed to have dinner tonight, but something came up with work. I've got to stay here late, get these tests run so. . . ._" Her voice trailed off as if distracted by something. He heard her type a couple of words before she returned to her message. "_. . .so maybe we can reschedule? I'm really sorry, Aaron, but you know how work can be. I'll see you soon._"

Aaron's heart fell as he replayed the message. He and Marta had talked on his way to the airport. She had sounded eager to join him for grilled steaks and twice-baked potatoes. Visiting Johannesburg had stirred memories of their time there, and he found himself anticipating her smile and the quiet conversation they would share. But things had changed. Six months ago, the President of the United States had granted both of them amnesty for their actions during their time on the run. Neither of them had returned home save for the moment that Pamela Landy contacted them. How she found them without tipping off Byer and the National Research Assay Group still confused Aaron, but he appreciated it. Through his and Marta's testimonies, Landy's hard work, and the files they'd painstakingly gathered over the years, Project Outcome and all of its beta programs had been officially closed down, Ric Byer and his cronies had gone to jail, and people like Aaron and Marta were free to return to their lives.

At first, Aaron and Marta had celebrated. They talked about picking a city at random but landed in Chicago when the government arranged for Marta to resume her work in virology. Her eyes had sparkled, and she'd cried on Aaron's shoulder that day. They hadn't known what to do for him, so they agreed to set him up anywhere he wanted to go, in any job he wanted, and with enough of a monthly income to satisfy any needs he might have until he was able to adjust. It had been the most natural thing for him to follow Marta to Chicago. They had settled in a small but luxurious apartment while he searched for a house and she began work. It took a month to find the right house, and Aaron had happily purchased it in spite of the work it needed.

And that's when things began to fall apart. Marta hadn't wanted to move outside of the city proper. She loved her job and needed to stay close, but Aaron felt crowded. The constant press of buildings and people was too much after their time on the run. He needed space. So, he moved into the house he'd bought for them and began renovating it while Marta found herself a spacious apartment. Aaron liked Marta's new home, and, for a time, he showed up before she got home from work to cook dinner and just unwind. But as he settled into life as a business owner and she got caught up in work at the lab, they grew apart.

_So, maybe we can reschedule?_ Marta's question on the answering machine rang through Aaron's head, and he picked up his duffel bag to carry it upstairs. At one point in time, he'd thought they would last, that they had something that would carry them the rest of their lives—however long or short that might have been. When he told her he loved her that night in Sydney, Australia, he meant it forever. There wasn't another woman for Aaron Cross. Just Marta. Now that they'd been allowed to live like anyone else, he found himself considering his options. He looked at Marta and wondered if she would let him change her last name from Shearing to Cross. Life for men like him was never easy, but he had found ways to cope. Surely they could work something out?

After depositing his dirty clothes in the hamper, he took a quick shower in the massive master suite, pulling clean jeans and pull-over from the beautiful cherry wood dresser in the bedroom. The house had been owned by a couple and her aging mother. When the mom passed away, the couple and their two kids sold the place. Aaron loved every bit of the layout, even if the wallpaper all over the house got on his nerves. He'd managed to get the carpet up and restore the hardwood flooring that had been underneath—not to mention the decrepit plumbing, worn roof, and drab exterior. His next project would be the kitchen.

Heading back downstairs, Aaron entered the office he'd set up out of the home's ground-level bedroom. He'd used the government's money and help to start a home-restoration business. His garage was filled with equipment, some of it for his own use here and some for use in his job. He now had a crew of three guys he employed, and he made good enough money that everything was covered. He stashed a healthy portion of his income—both from the job and the government's payout—in caches all over the world. Some things about his life before Marta were just ingrained. The multiple caches, weapons hidden around the home, the state-of-the-art alarm system with a password that changed weekly, keeping burner phones around, always checking his surroundings and knowing who was where at any given time. . . .These things would never leave him. They had kept him alive and had become such a part of his life that trying to stop doing them was like trying to stop breathing.

Moving from one task to another, he slipped onto the back porch and started the grill. Before he left for South Africa, he'd begun marinating some steaks, and he now chose one to cook along with his twice-baked potato. As he ate, he ignored the ache in the region of his chest that said things should have been different. But they weren't, and he could do nothing to change it. Not now. He just needed to find a way to live with circumstances as they were and continue loving Marta in spite of her obvious desire for space. One day, maybe she would understand what he offered, why he bought this home, and how much it meant to him that he give her what he felt she deserved.

oOo

Life had not been easy for Nicky Parsons. After leaving Jason in Tangier, she had bounced from city to city in the United States, always working menial jobs with just enough of an income to keep her head above water. The gypsy lifestyle wore on her, but she managed to stay off the grid. She did everything with cash, used burner cell phones, and changed her name and hairstyle each time. After nearly three years, the routine was familiar. Arrive, rent a small apartment or house, get a job, work for six to eight months, get spooked, and leave. Rinse and repeat.

But this time was different. Nicky had found a job at a coffee house in Seattle, and the work appealed to her. She liked the opportunity to visit with the patrons, to make the biscotti and cheesecake and muffins, to create new and interesting drinks. No, it wasn't working with computers or the international career she'd had with Treadstone and the CIA. But it was peaceful. She had friends here, something that she'd tried to avoid. And the owner of the shop had recently mentioned making her the manager while they opened a new branch elsewhere in the city. Plus, it had been six months since anyone even triggered her fight-or-flight response.

The day everything changed was sunny and cool. A recent rain had just washed the city, leaving everything sparkling for a change. Nicky finished a half-caf caramel latte for the lady in the drive-thru, setting it to the side of the cash register as she smiled. She loved it when the sun came out. The coffee shop's bright white tile, blue-tinged walls, and ice cream parlor feel made it a unique place to relax. Other than her tiny apartment, she liked it here best.

Giving the lady at the drive-thru her total, she took the credit card, ran it through, and passed out a receipt along with the drink. No one else waited at the speaker, and she glanced to check on the only other barista at work that day. The girl, half Nicky's age, was making coffee for the shop's insulated pots. That left Nicky to rinse the dishes recently used and get ready for the next customer. The door jingled as she began to do so, telling her she had yet someone else wanting coffee.

"Hello, Nicky."

She stiffened at the soft words. _No one_ in Seattle called her that! She whirled, her coworker looking at her funny since everyone here knew her as Chloe, and blinked when she met a familiar pair of blue eyes. Her heart jumped into her throat as she rushed the counter between them. "What are you doing here?"

Jason Bourne stared back, wearing a black wool coat and looking utterly lost. "It's over."

Nicky blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Everything. It's over." He stepped forward, putting his hands on the counter near the register. "Treadstone, Blackbriar, Outcome. . . .I just left New York. Landy confirmed it."

Nicky stared at him, her mind whirling as she tried to accept what he told her. She suddenly couldn't breathe, and the coffee shop was a bit too closed. She called her coworker, silently apologizing to the girl for the way Jason glared. "I've got to step out. Watch things."

Then, she grabbed Jason's arm and dragged him outside. The clouds had moved back in, promising more rain, but Nicky ignored that. Once on the crowded street, she spun on her heel to face Jason. "You're sure?"

"They're all dead or arrested."

"How'd you find out?"

"Some guy tracked me down." Jason pulled out the chair at a sidewalk table and sat down, not minding the water still in it. "Said they'd brought down everyone and I could come home. Nicky, he was one of us."

"Treadstone?"

"An operative. From Project Outcome."

"What is that?"

"I didn't get it all, but it's like Treadstone. Only with medications."

Nicky perched on the edge of a chair, unable to stop the way she glanced at the people around her. "And you're sure it's safe for you to be here?"

"Have the paperwork and everything." Jason frowned. "Pam Landy said it was amnesty, but I'm not sure. Doesn't feel like amnesty." He shook his head. "How do I go back?"

She couldn't answer him. Not really. Not when she hadn't gone back to a normal life. Instead, she reached over and took his hand, feeling how cold his fingers were and wanting to put some warmth into them. "Come back inside. I'll buy you coffee and you can tell me everything." As if to punctuate what she'd said, it started raining again.

Over the next hour, she and Jason dried out while Nicky took the occasional break to fill orders. But the weather kept most people in their cars, something that her coworker could handle. Nicky learned of Aaron Cross and how he'd found Jason in Johannesburg, how Jason had come back to the States and went directly to Pam Landy, and how Landy had finally, with the help of Cross and a doctor named Marta Shearing, taken down every program that wanted them dead. By the time she left for home that night, she'd been so stunned that she didn't pay attention to her surroundings. Jason did, however, as he insisted on walking her back to her apartment. She saw the disdain on his features for the tiny place she called home, but she simply told him to sit down while she made dinner. They ate, neither one wanting to discuss anything related to Treadstone.

Finally, Jason stood. "I should go."

"Why don't you stay here tonight?" Nicky asked at the same time. She waited while he blinked at her. "It's small, but. . . ." She shrugged, unable to keep speaking.

Jason eyed the apartment. "Why don't you come with me?" He hesitated awkwardly. "To the hotel, I mean. I'll pay for your room, and you can find somewhere better than this."

Nicky looked around the apartment again. It really was small, but she'd settled here. She saw pieces of herself even though she hadn't become that attached to anything. She'd miss the chipped Blue Willow teapot, but not because of any sense of ownership. It just reminded her of her grandmother and had been here when she moved in. The furniture suddenly looked tired instead of welcoming, and she remembered nights spent in Paris, in a nice apartment and comfortable bed. She remembered Madrid and Tangier and any number of places around the world—places that held both joy and regret. Turning back to Jason, she saw the slightly hopeful glint in his eyes and made her decision. "Okay."

He didn't smile. Instead, he just nodded and waited while she gathered up a few personal effects. She'd come back here. . .maybe. After she'd had a chance to absorb what had happened and how life had suddenly changed. She might stay here after all, buying new furniture and settling into life as the manager of a coffee shop. She might track down Pamela Landy. She might leave with Jason. She might. . . .She had no idea what she needed to do. Just like she suspected Jason had no idea what his next step would be, either.

They checked into the hotel, and Jason left Nicky at a suite bigger than her apartment. He slipped into the room next to hers, saying he'd be close if she needed him. Then, he closed the door, unaware of how those words affected her. Once upon a time, they hadn't stayed in separate rooms or separate beds. Once, before he lost his memory and met Marie, they had shared something bigger than either of them separately. Seeing Jason again. . . .He managed to revive all of those memories by simply saying her name.

Sighing deeply, Nicky Parsons closed the door on the world and found her way to a hot bath. As the water soothed tense muscles from the afternoon, she let her eyes drift shut and the tears she'd held at bay fall down her cheeks. Life had changed for Jason—for the better. Too bad it hadn't changed for her.

~TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** I should say something here about some of my "research" for this story. I used to work as an office assistant for a case manager with the developmentally disabled. As a result, I do have a lot of understanding on the different things individuals on the various Waiver programs require. I did some research into Nevada's Department of Health programs, and what's in this chapter is what I was able to find. If it's not accurate and you know what it is, please let me know.

Also, a gentleman at my church found out I was writing this story and started asking me about it. He is a vet, and he gave me some advice that I've tried to keep in mind concerning Aaron and Jason. Part of it was that they needed something to DO with themselves to be productive and not let the energy and adrenaline just gather up. So, with all of that out of the way, please enjoy the next chapter and let me know what you think! ~lg

oOo

One month later. . . .

Aaron should have been sleeping. He knew it as he walked into his kitchen and pulled a drink from the fridge. He had just spent hours working on the upstairs bathroom—the one guests would use if he ever had them—and was beyond tired. The decrepit plumbing in the house had already been replaced, but the fixtures had not. He started out with the intention of taking the wallpaper down and replacing the toilet. The room was still in a state of chaos because, halfway through the process, he took a trip to the hardware store and found tile, fixtures, and paint he liked. When he was done, it would look fantastic. Until then, it felt unfinished. And he hated leaving anything unfinished.

Flopping onto the couch, Aaron supposed he shouldn't have been surprised to find himself the owner of a restoration business. He'd always been good with his hands. Even before Outcome and the military, he had loved to take old things and make them new. He remembered days spent in a workshop with an ancient table or dresser, lovingly sanding it and restoring it to its original beauty. He had never been allowed to use power tools or chemicals without supervision, but the people at the state home had seen some value in his work. There were homes in Reno that still had his pieces sitting in them, the pride and joy of their owners who never knew the "poor disabled boy" that had done the work now lived free from those labels.

Running a hand over his mouth, Aaron sighed tiredly. _Go to bed_, his mind whispered. But he was restless. If he went upstairs and climbed into the king-sized bed, he'd just stare at the ceiling and wonder how it had all gone so wrong. How had his life devolved into living the dream he'd kept so close for years without the woman with whom he wanted to share it? A rock settled into his stomach, and he set aside the beer in favor of pacing around the house.

He'd gone to see Marta that day during his trip to the hardware store. All told, it ate up a good four hours just to drive the distance, have lunch with her, and drive home with the back of his truck loaded with supplies. There were hardware stores closer to his house with the same things, but he had been unable to say no when she called and asked for lunch. It was the first time they'd seen each other in nearly two weeks.

Thunder rumbled outside as Aaron looked around his home. The furniture that had once seemed so inviting looked old and tired. He'd meant to get new furniture, but there had been bigger problems with the house. It had good bones, yes. But he had needed a month to get it up to his standards. After living so long on the run, in and out of hotels and flophouses and dingy hiding spots, he needed this house to be perfect. Maybe then. . . .Pushing that thought away, he stood as the first drops of rain pattered against his window.

He couldn't say what set him off. Maybe it was the neighbor's dog barking or a slight change in the sound of the rain. He just suddenly knew that _someone_ was outside his house. The rain settled heavily over the area, distorting his hearing as he ducked away from the window. Putting his back against an inside wall to prevent casting shadows, he found the .45 he'd tucked under the table next to the door. Quickly flipping the safety off, he threw open his front door and stepped outside, leading with the gun in his left hand.

Jason Bourne stood at the end of his driveway, staring at the house with a confused expression.

After a quick search showed the two men were alone in the night, Aaron dropped the gun to his side. "Bourne."

The other man's head snapped around, and he met Aaron's eyes. "You said I could come here if I needed anything."

Aaron nodded. "Yeah." He tucked the gun in the small of his back, knowing Bourne likely had one on him as well. "Come in."

The two men eyed each other warily as Jason Bourne stepped onto the porch. He glanced down. "You want me inside like this?"

Aaron studied the other man, seeing the way the water dripped off of him and pooled at his feet. He motioned to one of the wooden rockers he'd placed on the porch. "Drink?"

"Sure." Bourne settled in the chair while Aaron slipped back inside.

The whole time he pulled two beers from the fridge and popped the lids off of them, Aaron's mind whirled. He had left his address with Bourne in Johannesburg, but he'd never expected the Treadstone operative to take him up on his offer. Men like Aaron and Bourne didn't mix well, not when they became accustomed to working alone. Both of them had too much baggage, too many years spent avoiding death and living in the shadows. It was one reason Outcome never allowed their agents to knowingly meet. That many operatives in one location could be very bad for everyone. They'd either kill each other or wreak havoc on the world around them.

But Bourne and Aaron were different. Aaron returned to the porch, seeing that Jason had leaned back in the chair and was watching the rain that fell in sheets. The wind blew the water away from the porch, so they only got marginally damp. Well, he did. Bourne was completely soaked. He offered the beer to his guest. "Here."

Bourne took the drink and sipped at it while Aaron sat down in the other rocker—the one near the door. If Bourne wanted in the house, he'd have to go through Aaron. Aaron hoped that didn't happen because, frankly, he was proud of this porch. It had been his first project on the house, and he liked sitting out here while kids played and adults arrived home from work. No one realized it, but he kept watch, protecting his neighbors the best way he knew how.

Finally, Bourne sighed and shook his head. "How do you do it?" When Aaron simply raised a confused eyebrow, he clarified, "Go back to an old life?"

Aaron lifted his chin once as he turned to watch the dark street and the water that caught the nearby streetlight. "You don't," he said simply. At Bourne's sharp glance, he decided he needed to explain as well. "I never had this. The house and car and job. It just. . . ." He shrugged with one shoulder. "It wasn't for me."

"What did you have?"

"Truthfully?" Aaron sat back in his chair, propping his feet on the porch railing. Beside him, Bourne braced his elbows on his knees and cradled the beer bottle in his hands between them, waiting for an answer. "I had a state home and an Individual Service Plan. Case worker, physical therapist, speech and language pathologist, the whole bit. It's what they give to people on the HCBS Waiver program."

"HCBS?"

"Yeah. The Medicaid Home and Community-Based Services Waiver." Aaron took a long drink. "It's what they give to people who are. . .challenged. Mentally."

Bourne stared at him. "You were. . . .They duped you? Into joining?"

"Yeah." Aaron clearly remembered the way he was recruited into the program. _If I pass, can I stay here?_ That question had changed his life, and he hadn't even known what he was signing up for. "They gave me the chems—program medication—that countered the. . .uh. . .developmental issues. Made me a little more normal."

Bourne snorted. "We're not normal."

Aaron eyed him. "What's your story?"

"I chose this." Bourne shook his head. "It took years to remember after I lost my memory. I couldn't even remember my own name until someone told me I was Jason Bourne. I thought I could get away from it, thought I could go back to being David Webb—whoever that was. But. . . ." He sighed. "I just kept running. Kept being Jason Bourne. Now, I have absolutely no idea what to do with myself."

Aaron sympathized. If it hadn't been for Marta, Landy, and the CIA, he would be in the same boat. He had been in the same boat for nearly three months after everything ended. While he had an idea of what he needed to do for the sake of his and Marta's future, he still felt that same restlessness. Everything had changed so drastically, and he couldn't just be Aaron Cross, business owner and quiet neighbor, any more than Bourne could be David Webb.

Eying the man next to him, Aaron's mind whirled. He had plenty of room, and he had something that Bourne could _do_, but he wasn't certain the other man would want it. "If you want, you can stay here for a bit." When Bourne glanced over suddenly, he shrugged. "I've got this big house, a job you can start on. It's not much, but it's what I've got."

Bourne met his eyes. "You'd take another operative into your home? Just like that?"

Aaron smirked. "Who else is going to understand why I roll out of bed with a gun when I just hear the dog barking next door?" As the other man nodded, he continued, "There's a big room above the garage. The bathroom up there works, but it's still being remodeled. And I've got plenty of work here at the house or on two other job sites around the area if you're up for a little physical labor."

Bourne looked back over the dark front yard. The rain was letting up, becoming a steady, gentle beat rather than the pounding downpour of a few moments ago. Aaron gave the man room to think, standing and stepping inside while leaving the door open. He carried half of his drink to the kitchen and poured it down the sink, not needing anything to dull his senses right now. He'd always been able to hold his liquor after his upgrades, but he saw no need to tempt fate. He puttered around the kitchen, loading a few dishes into the dishwasher and starting it before slipping into the garage to start a load of laundry. All the while, the front door let in the cool midnight air and reminded him that he wasn't alone.

Finally, Bourne appeared in the doorway. He glanced around the house and found Aaron in the kitchen. "Nice place."

Aaron leaned against the archway that led to the hall with his office, downstairs bathroom, and the stairs. "I like it. Been slowly restoring and updating it as I have time."

Bourne closed the door behind him, careful to wipe his feet on the rug Aaron had put next to the door for that purpose. "You sure about this?"

"You gonna shoot me in my sleep?"

"No."

"Okay." Aaron pushed off the wall and motioned behind him. "Room's this way."

It only took a few moments for him to show Bourne to the guest room and explain the eccentricities of the currently-destroyed bathroom. Afterward, he slipped through his house, securing the premises as well as ever, set the alarm, and settled in his bed. Staring at the ceiling, he felt the rock that had been in his stomach ease just a touch. So, it wasn't Marta, and he still didn't have the white picket fences like he'd dreamed. But he had helped someone else. Jason Bourne might not be the picture of a person in need, but men like Bourne and Aaron didn't just settle back into suburban life without a few bumps along the way. Aaron had had Marta to help him. Maybe Bourne didn't need anyone except another ex-operative who had walked that road.

With those thoughts in mind, Aaron Cross closed his eyes and slept.

oOo

Jason Bourne stood just inside the door of Cross's guest room, looking around and trying to find it in himself to keep from bolting out the window. The place was nice—as nice as any hotel he'd stayed in over the years. The queen-sized bed was covered in a pale blue comforter with chocolate brown trim. The whole set—comforter, pillows, shams, bed skirt, and sheets—looked like something ordered from a catalog while the bed was a simple wrought iron piece that was almost too perfect. If Cross had started setting this place up shortly after he returned to the States, then the guy likely had no idea how to make a room _not_ look like a hotel.

But Jason appreciated the effort. He slipped out of his still-wet shoes, letting his feet sink into the plush brown rug that covered the sitting area. The hard wood flooring glowed, and a fireplace waited for someone to enjoy the heat it would provide. Above the mantle, a print of a mountain landscape broke the gray walls and gave the whole area a warmth that, even if it did feel like a hotel, helped Jason to relax slightly. It would take months, if not years, for him to lose the hyper-vigilance that had kept him alive.

Peeling his wool coat from his shoulders, he found some empty hangars in the closet. He'd arrived with nothing more than the clothes on his back, not an unfamiliar situation but one that had suddenly become a bit awkward. Cross had obviously known this would happen when he returned, that Jason would struggle to find his equilibrium in a world that didn't want him dead for just existing. It had taken hearing the news from Pamela Landy's mouth—as well as watching the hours of video detailing the arrests and trials of men like Ezra Kramer, Ric Byer, Noah Vosen and others—for him to believe it was all real. After that, he traveled to Goa, to that bridge where Marie died because she'd been helping him. There, he struggled to move forward without her even though he still, on some level, loved and missed her. Afterward, he found himself in Seattle and then here.

What was he going to do with himself? Jason finally crawled under the blankets and lay staring at the ceiling. He couldn't go on living in another man's house—even if said man had opened up the guest room for as long as he needed it—or wandering from one place to another. Aaron Cross had obviously recovered well and found something that suited him. But Jason had always been a soldier, a killer. He'd always had that propensity for violence. Other than law enforcement or private security, there really wasn't much in the way of professions for a former spy and assassin. Not _legal_ professions, anyway.

Could he really pick up the threads of the life he'd left behind? Did he _want_ to pick up those threads? Or did he want to take Cross up on his offer, learn a trade, and let Jason Bourne be more than a killer? Those questions hounded him into sleep and woke with him shortly after sunrise the next morning. Sitting up suddenly, Jason blinked at the room, now bright with sunlight. His shoes still lay near the fireplace, the closet door slightly ajar and his wool coat peeking out. He'd stripped down to his skivvies to allow his clothes to dry out, and he now dressed quickly. His jeans felt a bit stiff, but he could get through the day with those. He'd just ask Cross for the nearest menswear outlet and pick out some clothes and luggage.

After darting across the hall to the mostly-functional bathroom for a quick shower, Jason finally made his way downstairs. The aroma of frying bacon had trickled up to the bathroom while he'd bathed, and he found Cross in the kitchen, cooking breakfast while listening to country music on a small iPod. The Outcome agent eyed Jason slightly before pointing at a plate already filled with eggs, hashbrowns, bacon, toast, and fruit. It was big breakfast, just the thing a man needed when he had a full day ahead of him.

Jason picked up the plate and carried it to the table, taking a few moments to really absorb the beauty of the house. Cross had picked well if he wanted the American dream. The sliding doors near the dining table opened onto a patio with a grill, grass that extended around and behind the house, and a tall cedar fence. The home's hardwood floors glowed down here just as they had upstairs, and the kitchen sported the worst wallpaper and linoleum Jason had seen in the States. "Nice place," he said, realizing he was repeating himself from the night before. But it was true. The more he saw of the house, the more he began to understand why Cross invited him to stay. This house was Cross's way of rebuilding after Outcome.

Cross glanced up from where he'd just finished buttering his own toast. "Thanks." He carried his plate to the table and settled across from Jason. "Bought it seven months ago. Looked nothing like this."

Jason waited until the other man started to eat. "So, you mentioned you've got a job for me?"

Cross braced his forearms on the table. "If you're up for it." He motioned around them. "I renovate old homes, sometimes restore them."

"That explains the bathroom upstairs."

Cross snickered. "_That_ was a shopping spree at the hardware store."

Jason narrowed his eyes. "Is it always like this?" he asked. "Everything feeling so. . .disconnected."

Cross shrugged. "I dunno." He ate a piece of bacon while he thought. "Was for me." He turned and stared directly at Jason. "Men like us don't get nice homes and settled lives. We get war zones and. . . ." His voice trailed off for a moment. "It's kind of nice to be bored for a change."

Jason nodded. "So, you want me to work for you?"

"Yeah," Cross said. "Look, it's not the greatest job out there, but it's work. And it's different enough from what I had that I like it. Before Outcome, I liked restoring old things. Now, I can actually do something with that."

Jason ate a few bites of his eggs. "I don't have any experience. Not with construction work."

"Can you swing a hammer? Use a paintbrush?" When Jason nodded, Cross continued, "You'll learn."

The two men ate in silence until their plates were empty. Jason carried his to the sink and rinsed it, watching Cross finish his coffee from the corner of his eye. "So, as soon as I get on my feet, I'll be out of your hair."

Cross eyed him. "Room's yours as long as you need it." He stood, letting out a deep sigh. "Take the day, get your bearings. I'll be working around here most of it, so you can use the truck if you need to. Just have it back by. . . ." He eyed his watch. ". . .by four. I've got plans tonight."

With that, Cross tossed him a set of keys and headed for the garage. Jason watched the man go, stunned that his immediate future had been so easily decided. He still had questions, but the thought of actually holding down a job, earning a paycheck, and living on a schedule appealed more than he cared to admit. Pocketing the keys, he straightened the kitchen and then, after poking his head into the tool-filled garage where Cross was cutting tile with a wet-saw, climbed in the truck. He needed a few things if he was going to settle in Chicago.

oOo

"Are you sure that's such a good idea?" Dr. Marta Shearing stood in her large kitchen, staring at Aaron as he leaned against the counter next to the stove. He had come directly from work, something she could tell by the sturdy jeans and scuffed steel-toed boots he wore. Somehow, he made grungy, work-stained clothes look incredible, and she had yet to figure out how he learned _that_ particular skill. It wasn't exactly part of his training regimen for Outcome.

He met her eyes, his face unreadable. "Marta, remember how I was those first few months? Remember when you would go to work and come home to find me still on the couch, just waiting for an attack and unable to do anything because I didn't _know_ what to do?"

Her eyes closed as she thought of those days. They'd been hard. She had her work to keep her busy, to help her adjust to a nine-to-five schedule and the mundane existence of American life. Aaron had struggled to relax in their tiny apartment, jumping at the slightest thing and barely sleeping. He'd been so lost when she left each day, telling him she would be okay, that her heart had broken over and over again.

But time had healed both of them. She still had her job, working in virology with the full understanding that her work would one day change the course of medicine. And he'd bought a house and started a business. Somehow, the process of finding and purchasing the home combined with the physical labor he did on a daily basis helped ground him in ways she hadn't seen except in rare moments while they'd been on the run. Aaron had always been her anchor, and she had only seen that steadiness blossom over the last seven months. It really shouldn't surprise her that he had taken a fellow operative into his home, but it did.

When she did open her eyes, Aaron had moved across her expansive living room to look out the windows. Her apartment had a fantastic view of Lake Michigan, and she smiled every morning and evening. Tonight, the sunset had changed the sky to a deep purple while the city sparkled around her. It only made the warm hard wood floors, light tan walls, and bright lights of her home all the more appealing. The open spaces and modern furniture in tones of cream, country blue, and rich red completed the look. It was exactly what Marta would have wanted for herself when she and Aaron used to hold each other at night and dream of the future.

But their future was different from those dreams. In those times, they'd imagined themselves together, holding one another in their bed at night and listening to the breathing of children that Aaron believed would never exist. When they finally brought down Outcome, Marta wondered if they might have a chance. But she was getting older, and Aaron moved out of the city to a house so perfect that it made her heart break every time she went over there. He'd bought that house for her, she knew. But she just couldn't leave the city. Not now, with her work and the ability to conference and publish. She had everything she'd wanted back when she worked at Sterisyn-Morlanta. . .except Aaron.

At one time, she would have gone to him, wrapped her arms around his waist, and let him hold her while they talked about why he'd allowed Jason Bourne to live in his house. But those days had ended. Back in Sydney, Australia, when Marta realized she loved Aaron, she had thought it was something that would last forever. She felt so strongly about it and had wondered if she could stand to live if anything happened to him.

Now, she knew better. They still shared dinner at least once a week unless she had to work, and they talked on the phone often. But not as often as they once had. She had allowed herself to get so caught up in her job, to go out with friends to discuss research instead of joining Aaron for quiet dinners in the house he bought for her, to separate herself from him. It had happened gradually, almost without her realizing it. Now, he stood and stared over Lake Michigan, arms crossed as he obviously worked out his latest issue, while she hesitated in the kitchen of her perfect, yet lonely, apartment.

Fishing around her brain for a topic of conversation, she threw out the first question that came to mind. "How's the house coming?"

He turned and eyed her as she joined him at the window. His arms still crossed over his chest, he looked utterly at ease and tense all at once. "Good. I got started on the upstairs bathroom yesterday and got the tile down. Bourne's got to use the one downstairs until I get it grouted and sealed. New fixtures in." He shrugged. "I'll probably get ready to do everything except painting tomorrow. Then, it'll be done."

Awkward silence fell again, and Marta sighed. This wasn't working. Aaron didn't want to talk, and she didn't feel like drawing him out of his moodiness. He went through stages like this, when he just closed down everything and wouldn't let her in. She'd seen them most often right after they'd argued or immediately following their move to Chicago. Since moving to Arlington Heights, giving her some space and him some badly needed focus, the moods had dropped away. Until now. "Aaron?"

He shook his head, sighing deeply as he rubbed his eyes. "I'm okay. Just. . . ." He studied her for a long moment. "I should probably go. I didn't sleep real well last night, and. . . ." He didn't need to finish the sentence. Having a man like Jason Bourne in his house probably kept him from resting.

Marta nodded. "Drive safe."

He walked to the door and pulled his keys from his pocket, shrugging into that leather jacket she loved to see him wear. He met her eyes, holding her gaze and trying to pass something along to her. But she failed to understand it. Finally, he sighed. "I'll call you. Maybe we can do dinner at my place next week."

"I'd like that." She smiled as he closed the door behind him, the smile falling away as his footsteps faded.

How had it gone so wrong? Marta returned to the kitchen, finishing up the few dishes that her conversation with Aaron had left behind. They'd enjoyed Italian tonight, having decided on take-out since both of them were tired from work. After eating, he had followed her into the kitchen to clean up the mess they'd made while trying—and failing—to make dessert. For a time, they moved about in a synchronized pattern, so accustomed to one another that they just knew what to do. They had laughed together, something Marta missed, and she saw several times when Aaron thought about kissing her. Part of her wished he had while the other part was grateful he'd withdrawn. She wasn't ready to discuss what went wrong, especially when she knew that she'd be unable to resist if Aaron decided to let their relationship get physical again.

Wandering back over to the windows, Marta stopped long enough to grab the crocheted throw from the back of the couch and wrap it around herself. She'd started the habit when they paused in Switzerland during the winter. Folding a blanket around herself was comforting and familiar. Many times, Aaron would come up behind her and hold her that way, and it always made Marta smile. Now, she just had the blanket and no Aaron. And it was her fault. _She_ insisted on staying in the city when he obviously needed to find a place of his own. _She_ had the job, the fancy apartment, the nice car. _She_ wasn't content to step away from the work that had, in many ways, created the man she loved. _She_ was to blame.

And maybe that was the problem. Unfortunately, Marta didn't know how to fix it.

~TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** Apologies for getting this posted so late. It is still Monday, but it's also Martin Luther King, Jr Day here in the States. And beautiful spring weather where I live, which meant painting my parents' house. As always, hope you enjoy! ~lg

oOo

Bourne's first day at work was everything Aaron anticipated. The Treadstone operative appeared that morning, wearing sturdy jeans, a button-down shirt, and steel-toed boots. He ate in silence and brooded the entire way to the job site. Not that Aaron expected anything less. He understood the nerves that came from not hiding his trail. For his sake—and Bourne's—he didn't take a roundabout way to work. The quicker Bourne adjusted, the easier life would be for everyone.

At the house, a rundown brick affair that meant more to the owners than the cost of restoring it, Aaron parked in the alley and climbed from his truck. Bourne followed slowly. The sound of two guys discussing their weekend plans with their girlfriends came through the wood fence. Aaron pushed the gate open as Manuel, a burly Hispanic still on parole, smacked Bobby's arm. Bobby was bigger than Manuel, a biker with tattoos covering his arms and an attitude to match. Both men outweighed Aaron by at least forty pounds, and both straightened as Bourne stepped through the gate.

The reaction was immediate. Bourne quickly assessed the two men while they studied him. Aaron knew this could get interesting very quickly if he didn't intervene. After all, Bourne was every bit an alpha male as any of the other men on this site. Aaron buried the urge to roll his eyes. "Hey, guys, this is Jason. He'll be working with me for a while." He moved to the area where Manuel was refinishing cabinet doors for the kitchen. "Where do we stand with the house?"

For the next bit, Aaron listened as Bobby and Manuel showed him what they had in the works. The two were an unusual pair, their friendship extending only until the work day ended. While he bounced between his house and the two homes the CIA had helped him arrange contracts on, these two put most of their time into getting this place livable The other owner wanted his house done slowly, but this house needed to be finished as soon as possible. According to the owner, anyway. Aaron was trying to accommodate him in the interest of good customer relations.

Finally, he nodded as Bobby finished showing him the kitchen. "So, we'll be ready for inspection by the weekend?" As he spoke, he watched Bourne and Manuel eye each other. Bourne had circled the site, obviously checking the perimeter and determining any escape routes. Aaron wasn't concerned about Bourne securing the area as much as he worried about Manuel's reaction. It had taken a fistfight for the big ex-con to respect Aaron.

Bobby caught the tension. "Yeah," he said shortly. "Then what?"

Aaron shrugged. "That big job. I'll hire some temp help on that."

Bobby went his way, returning to the bathroom he needed to finish, while Aaron called Bourne over and started teaching him the proper way to stain a built-in china cabinet. Then, he slipped into the kitchen to work on the marble tile hidden under layers of dirt.

The day passed quietly. After Bourne finished the first coat of stain on the cabinet, he joined Aaron in the kitchen. Manuel and Bobby worked outside, their conversation quiet and sometimes drowned out by the tools they used. But Aaron heard every word clearly. Based on the way Bourne's eyes flickered to the door, he heard a good deal as well. Aaron knew he'd have to deal with this, but he had hoped to get through the day. "We knew this would happen," he said quietly.

Bourne simply nodded.

As the day drew to a close, Aaron left Bourne adding a second coat of stain to the china cabinet and made his way outside. Bobby had finished in the bathroom and taken off, a prearranged agreement since his girlfriend had a doctor's appointment that afternoon. Manuel was carting the cabinet doors inside so they could be hung the next day. He glanced up and caught Aaron's attention. "Got a minute?"

"Sure." Aaron followed him away from the house, aware that Bourne was likely listening no matter where they were on the property.

Manuel scratched the back of his neck. "You know who that is, right?"

Aaron nodded. "Yeah. What about it?"

"That's _Jason Bourne_! The guy was all over the news! Something about being wanted by the government?"

"Don't believe everything you hear, Manny." Aaron narrowed his eyes slightly. "I hired the guy. He's clean, he's innocent of all charges, and he's not gonna cause problems. No more than you or Bobby."

Manuel blinked, taken back by Aaron's apparently forgiving attitude. "You really are somethin'!"

Aaron shrugged. "Nah. Just a guy trying to run a business and do something good in my life."

Manuel studied him for a few moments. "My kid could learn a lot from you." With that final compliment, he returned to work.

Aaron shook his head. Manuel had no idea what he'd gone through to become the man he was now. But he appreciated the sentiment. His decision to hire all the men who worked for him stemmed from the desire to do good. He was a killer, one who had been created. Men like him didn't just stop being what they were. Someone helped them and influenced them. For Aaron, it was Marta's presence in his life. He hoped he could do that for Bourne, Manuel, and Bobby.

He thought about that the entire way home. When Bourne insisted on taking care of dinner, he headed upstairs and set about grouting the bathroom while still considering Manuel's words. Later, after the two men ate, Aaron returned to his work. He was on his hands and knees, wiping the gray-toned grout away from the new tile, when he sensed Bourne's approach. Rocking back on his haunches, he met the other man's gaze.

Bourne stood with his hands at his sides, clearly unsure what to do. "I heard what you told Manuel," he said awkwardly. "Thanks. For. . ." He looked around. "Just thanks."

Aaron understood. "You're welcome." He didn't need Bourne's gratitude but appreciated the effort nonetheless. Motioning to the bathroom, he said, "I've got maybe another hour. I'll seal it tomorrow evening, and you can have it back."

Bourne shrugged. "Take your time." He left Aaron alone then, going downstairs to clean up and settle in for the evening. Aaron finished with the grout and slipped into his own room.

His conversation with Manuel played through his head yet again as he, too, took a hot shower. Could he really make a difference? Yes, the decision to hire men like Manuel and Bobby was driven by his need to affect someone else's life. But could he take that need and do something bigger with it? Could he affect more lives, use his skills to train men—and women—in a trade that would provide for their families? The thought had merit in so many ways. Aaron was a former assassin who needed the job to anchor him. Bourne had a similar history with Treadstone but had been a soldier in a prior life. Manuel was an ex con on parole, finally able to join his family after nearly ten years of doing time for aggravated assault and armed robbery. Bobby was a biker who just got into fights because he liked to, had smacked around the wrong people, and now was in anger management classes and on probation. All of them had complicated issues that made "fitting in" to civilian life borderline impossible.

With his mind working on the idea, Aaron set the home alarm and climbed into bed. He had a full schedule the next day with needing to find extra help for the new project. In addition, he'd come home to find two messages on his machine from prospective clients. Bourne would be on his own with Manuel and Bobby. But maybe that was a good thing. Aaron hoped the other two men would remember the lesson he'd taught them and avoid provoking Bourne. Otherwise, he'd have to hire more workers while they recovered.

oOo

Jason's first week on the job passed uneventfully. After his first two days in Cross's home, he settled into a routine. He rose early, usually before the sun, and took off for a run. Cross had set up a gym in the back yard, and Jason used it a few times. But running cleared his head and helped him focus on the day. After a quick shower in the newly-finished bathroom, he joined Cross for breakfast and a ride to work. Sometimes, Cross stayed on site all day. Other times, he left Jason to learn from Manuel and Bobby while being the business owner and drumming up more work.

Manuel and Bobby were an interesting diversion for Jason. Neither of them trusted him, but they trusted Cross. Because Cross left Jason with them, they kept their comments to themselves while they taught him the tricks of their trade. But Jason knew they discussed his presence. He overheard several conversations, and the wary glances they gave him spoke loudly. As did Jason's own reflexes. He kept an eye out for danger every day and often had to stop himself from vanishing. He never went anywhere unarmed, and he didn't invite conversation.

Perhaps that was for the best. Jason didn't know if he'd stay in Chicago long, but he liked the way he felt at the end of a long day. By the weekend, they'd finished the house, and the sense of accomplishment that filled him allowed him to smile for the first time since South Africa. He imagined it was greater for Cross and the other two. Cross confirmed that when, after telling Bobby and Manuel to enjoy their weekends, he invited Jason to join him for a steak dinner. Apparently the house was the first big project for Cross and deserved to be celebrated. The two men spent the evening enjoying drinks and not talking. It was just the kind of friendship Jason needed.

He watched Cross during that first week, looking for a reason to _not_ trust the guy. Apparently Cross needed the friendship as badly as Jason. They had spent too many years of their lives looking over their shoulders and waiting for the next attack. Knowing that his boss and landlord understood that mentality helped Jason stay around a bit longer.

Like any other guy, Cross had his own issues. Jason caught bits and pieces of a conversation between Cross and a woman named Marta. Having done his homework, Jason knew that Marta Shearing was Cross's partner throughout his travels. But things had obviously not worked out. Based on the snippets he heard, Cross and Shearing remained friends but were caught up in their own lives. The way Cross left his office after that phone call told Jason that the other man hated how things had turned out.

Cross's issues with Shearing, whatever they were, made Jason think about Nicky Parsons. He'd left her in Seattle after urging her to contact Landy. There was a pay out waiting with Nicky's name on it if she would swallow her pride. But Jason understood her reticence as well. The government pay out to the members of Treadstone and Outcome and other programs felt like too little, too late. It was meant to compensate for the years on the run and help the previously hunted individuals settle into their new lives. But how does one compensate another for years spent knowing the next day could be the last? How could they put a price on Marie's life?

Still, Jason had taken the money if for no other reason than to give himself some resources. As had Cross and Shearing. But the mere mention of it to Nicky had resulted in the end of their conversation. Jason had left Seattle a few minutes later after securing a promise from Nicky to think about the money and giving her his word that he'd stay in touch.

But he hadn't. After Seattle, he drove through California and Arizona, trying to get lost in each place and ignore the restlessness. After a month of traveling the United States, he found himself on Cross's porch, asking how to get on with life. And Cross, while not having many answers, had given Jason a leg up.

But what about Nicky? Was she feeling the same disconnect he'd felt? Or had she just continued with her life? On his first Saturday after starting his job, Jason borrowed Cross's truck and went shopping. He picked up a pre-paid cell phone as well as finding a small car of his own. He paid cash for the used Mitsubishi Lancer and agreed to return for it the next day. Cross nodded once when Jason explained why he needed a ride, and no further conversation passed between the two men.

On Sunday, after getting his car and sending Cross off for his lunch with Shearing, Jason drove back his temporary home and pulled out his phone. He knew Nicky's contact information might not be accurate, but he had to try. Dialing her number, he waited until her voice mail picked up. "_It's Chloe. Leave me a message._"

Jason smiled at the sound of Nicky's voice. "It's me," he said after the beep. "I know I said I'd stay in touch, and I'm sorry. Just wanted to let you know how to get in touch with me. Call me back."

Ending the call, Jason tossed the phone on his bed and paced the room. He told himself over and over again that nothing was wrong, that Nicky was fine, that they were free to live their lives. But he couldn't shake the instincts in his gut that screamed for attention. Something _had_ gone wrong, and he didn't know exactly what to do about it.

oOo

Nicky Parsons let her hand drop, the phone in it telling her that she could press seven to delete the message. Instead, she hit the End button and stared at the wall of her motel room. The last few days had, yet again, changed her world, though she'd had a bit of a choice this time.

Within the week after Jason's visit, she noticed the bruises on her coworker's arms. Brianna was nineteen and idealistic. She'd mentioned a new boyfriend several times over the month, and Nicky knew the girl had jumped into something she wasn't ready to handle. Her job with Treadstone—monitoring the mental well-being of the operatives—allowed her to see the stress and furtive glances Brianna showed. Nicky kept an eye on her friend, constantly trying to draw her out about the boyfriend. But Brianna refused to talk about him.

Then, two weeks ago, things changed. Brianna came to work with bruises around her neck. Nicky nearly lost her temper, but Brianna said things just got rough the night before. Having been in those situations, Nicky almost let it go. But the aforementioned boyfriend showed up at the coffee shop that day. The sheer terror on Brianna's face told its own story. After he left, Nicky pulled her aside. "If you need help," she told the girl, "let me know."

Brianna had smiled and said everything was fine. Two days later, she appeared with a broken arm, black eye, and split lip. Nicky didn't listen to any comments about how he had just "lost control" the previous evening. She called her manager to have someone cover the shop and then bundled Brianna into her car. The entire time she packed a bag, Brianna insisted everything was okay. But, when Nicky told her that she could go home if that was true, the girl buckled. The entire story came out in a flurry of tears. At nineteen, Brianna was afraid for her life and the life of her unborn child. If for no other reason, she wanted out.

Leaving Seattle was easy. But Brianna's boyfriend managed to find them. Nicky had warned Brianna that any family she had would be out of the question for help, and the girl led her to an old bed and breakfast that belonged to the family. She swore her boyfriend didn't know about it. She was wrong. The two women found him waiting for them, angry and intent on exacting revenge. In the fight, Nicky got her hands on an ancient fire poker and knocked him over the head. He went down, out cold, as Brianna ran. Nicky had spent the rest of the night trying to find the girl and listening to the police scanner she kept in her car. From it, she learned that the boyfriend was in critical condition and Brianna had told everything to the police. But she couldn't bring herself to go back.

What if Jason was wrong? That thought skittered through her head only to be immediately dismissed. Jason didn't make mistakes like that. But if the police caught up to her, they could charge her with manslaughter or assault. If that happened, she would lose her freedom just as assuredly as if she'd been caught by Treadstone.

She had just used the last of her cash to rent a motel room for the night when Jason's call came in. She had stared at the unknown number before sending it to voice mail. Now, she wished she'd answered the phone.

What could Jason do? What _would_ Jason do? That was the bigger question. He might be working to settle into civilian life, but he was still Treadstone. If he knew she was in trouble, he'd show up and try to solve it. His brand of solving things meant people died. With Brianna's boyfriend being in critical condition, Nicky did _not_ need that complication. So far, the police were looking for a blond, curly-haired young woman named Chloe, but they had no intention of prosecuting her. She didn't believe that for a moment.

Making an instant decision, she picked up her phone and memorized the number. It was time for Nicky Parsons to come out of the shadows.

oOo

Jason's phone rang halfway through his Monday morning. He'd been working alongside Cross, learning the ins and outs of beginning a major renovation. The house Cross had taken on was a massive two-story castle in the middle of Chicago. The home had a lot of history, and Jason could see the hints of greatness in spite of the crumbling brick and water-damaged roof. Manuel and Bobby met them in the living room, an area that echoed no matter how softly they spoke, and the four men spread out the floor plan on a grimy counter while Cross outlined the owner's desires. The foundation was in excellent shape, but everything else had been let go. The owner had acquired the property because he saw potential in the house, and he wanted to give his wife a retreat. Somehow, when Cross said that, Jason saw the man underneath the Outcome agent peek out. Hadn't Cross done the same thing for the woman he loved and hadn't gotten the response he wanted?

They had moved on from discussing the owner's desires to the men's thoughts on the place. The renovation would take a long time and require a good-sized crew. Jason knew that the cost of maintaining that crew had been figured into the contract, and he hoped Cross knew what he was doing. One house under his belt wasn't that much of a resume. However, if Cross managed to get _this_ house finished, he'd build a bit of credibility. At least, in Jason's mind. Construction circles probably worked a bit differently.

His phone ringing cut through Manuel's excitement over the massive kitchen. The sound echoed around the room, and Cross, who had been close to Jason when the phone rang, winced very slightly. Jason pulled it from his pocket, frowning at the unknown number, before answering it. "Yeah?"

"_Jason?_"

He blinked. "Nicky? What's wrong?"

Behind him, Manuel and Bobby listened unashamedly while Cross shifted in place. The Outcome agent didn't seem tense, but Jason picked up the readiness in his stance. That, and Cross could likely hear Nicky's voice as easily as Jason's.

On the other end of the phone, Nicky's voice was cut off by a passing semi. When the roar faded, she said, "_I'm in Kalispell. I had to leave Seattle._"

"Why?"

She sighed. "_Long story. But you said. . . .I mean, I kind of. . . ._" After another pause, she blurted out, "_I'm kind of in a bind. I'm stuck here._"

"Stuck how?" Jason, not liking the way the other three men watched him, walked out of the house. He left the door open and paced in front of a window. "Nicky, what's going on?"

"_Uh. . . ._" She chuckled mirthlessly. "_I'm out of money and out of gas. I walked down to the truck stop to use the pay phone, but. . . ._"

Jason ran his hand over his face. For Nicky to have taken off like that, something bad had to have happened. "Is there a Western Union close by?"

"_I don't. . .Yes._" Her voice sounded much steadier. "_Jason, I'm sorry. It's just that. . . ._"

"It's okay," he interrupted. "You helped me out once. It's my turn now. Just sit tight. I'll have some money headed your way in a bit. After that, come to Chicago. You can lay low here for a bit."

"_Thanks,_" she said after a long moment.

Jason hung up the phone and turned to find Cross in the doorway of the house. His boss frowned at him. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah." Jason motioned with his phone. "When I was. . .in Europe, I knew someone. She helped me out and had to. . . .Anyway, she's in trouble."

Cross nodded once, obviously understanding what Jason wasn't saying for the sake of possible witnesses. "You leaving for a while?"

Jason stared at the other man. "I don't know." He shook his head. "I want to run over there and help her, but. . . ."

"Don't." Cross met his eyes. "If she was part of the program, she's used to standing on her own two feet. Just calling you was a big step, as big as you showing up at my place. Let her come to you."

Jason nodded. It made sense, and he sighed deeply. "There a Western Union close?"

Cross gave him instructions and promised to find Nicky a place to stay. He then told Jason to take his lunch a bit early. Jason didn't acknowledge the comment, choosing to speed out of the neighborhood toward his bank. _My bank_, he thought ruefully. He'd never thought things like bank accounts, utility bills, and insurance cards would ever exist in his name. Not legally. Yet, here he was with just that, including the ability to help a friend in need.

What had gone wrong with Nicky? Why had she left Seattle? Those questions needed answers, and his instincts told him to drive to Kalispell. But Nicky needed money _now_, not twenty or so hours from now. The best thing he could do would be to wait for her to get here. Then, he would sit down with Nicky and Cross and figure out what to do next.

oOo

Marta had just settled at a linen-covered table to order her lunch when her phone rang. She picked it up, smiling at the number there. "Hello."

"_You sound happy._" Aaron's voice mingled with the echo of an empty house. "_Good day_?"

"Better now." She accepted her water from the waiter and waved him away, choosing to focus on Aaron. It was so easy to fall back on flirtatious tones with him, especially when he sounded as if he'd smiled the moment he heard her voice. "What's going on?" When he hesitated, she sat up straighter. "Aaron?"

"_Is that second room in your apartment still available?_"

Marta blinked. That was _not_ what she'd expected to come out of Aaron's mouth. "Depends on who's thinking about sleeping there." And she wasn't trying to be coy. She refused to open her home to just anyone.

"_Bourne's got a friend who needs a place to stay. A woman who helped him out in Europe._" Aaron paused. "_Marta, I wouldn't ask, but I'm not real comfortable. . . .She's probably not going to want the bedroom between two operatives._"

Marta sighed, seeing the reality of that statement immediately. "Any idea what time she'll be coming in?"

"_She's about twenty hours out. I know she ran into some trouble and had to get out of town quickly, hence why she called Bourne in the first place._" He sighed. "_If you're not comfortable with it, Marta, say so now so I can make other arrangements._"

Marta didn't know what to say. She _wasn't_ comfortable with this, but not for the reasons Aaron assumed. He thought she'd pressed on in life without a single thought to their past, but, truth be told, she was just a good actress. She didn't drive to work the same route every single day, and she always kept one eye on her rearview mirror. She used her building's gym daily, as well. And she made certain to keep cash and weapons on hand if she needed to run. She'd learned those things from Aaron, and she doubted the habits would be broken any time soon.

How would she react to having another person besides him in the apartment with her? She knew Aaron's movements, how he sighed at night when he fell asleep, how the shuffle of his footsteps echoed on hard wood first thing in the morning. Another person in her home would keep her from resting. But could she do any less? Especially when Aaron had taken _Jason Bourne_ into his home? Two operatives in the same house was either a recipe for disaster or the greatest bromance ever told.

"_Marta?_" Aaron's voice dragged her back to her table.

"I'm here." She suppressed the sigh that tried to escape. "I'll have the room ready. Just. . . ."

"_I'll make sure she's safe._" Aaron hung up a few moments later, having sufficiently and unintentionally destroyed her appetite. Marta ordered anyway, picking at her meal while her mind worked out the changes she needed to make at home. The guest room needed to be aired out, and the second bathroom could use a cleaning. She also wanted the room to be comfortable for this other woman, so she decided to pick up some small things—toiletries, throw pillows, and curtains. She spent the evening prepping the room, satisfied that it was as comfortable as possible. It was smaller than her room, the queen-sized bed, bedside tables, dresser, and chair filling it up. But the windows had a spectacular view of Lake Michigan, just like almost every other room in the apartment, and Marta decided she would have been happy to have it when she'd been on the run.

She just hoped that whatever trouble this other woman was in didn't follow her to Chicago. She couldn't uproot herself from her life a second time, even if Aaron went with her. She wasn't that woman anymore.

~TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Nicky pulled into Chicago just under twenty-four hours after her phone call to Jason. She'd been restless while waiting for him to "rescue" her with some extra cash, and she'd smiled wearily at the Western Union clerk. She owed Jason for this and resolved to find a way to make it up to him. Wiring money to her, while not unusual for anyone else, was a big step. He didn't just send money from his account, not when people wanted him dead.

But no one wanted him dead. Nicky followed the instructions on her GPS to the address he'd given her. She had driven through the night, stopping only for coffee and gasoline. Now, over-caffeinated and nursing a headache, she thankfully pulled to a stop outside a decrepit three-story house. Three trucks had been parked outside, one of them a battered blue Ford with Cross Construction and Home Restoration on the side, and the sound of tools and men's voices could be heard inside. The front door was open, and she saw movement through one of the big bay windows as she climbed out of her car.

Jason appeared a moment later, wearing jeans, t-shirt, and work boots. He had safety glasses on his face and a tool belt resting on his hips. All in all, he looked utterly normal and very welcome. A quick smile touched his face as he shed the safety glasses, and he trotted down the steps to greet her. Pulling her into a hug, he whispered, "Go with it."

Nicky smiled gratefully and hugged him back. "Easy to do. Thanks."

Jason stepped back, his hands on her shoulders as he studied her face. "You look tired."

"I am tired." She glanced over his shoulder to where another man, about Jason's height, leaned in the doorway of the house. "Thanks for the help, by the way. I've got some of it left over."

"Keep it." Jason shrugged. "Tomorrow's payday, anyway." He turned and slipped an arm around her waist, and she suddenly understood the reason for the hug. This was a construction site and, while their observer seemed content to keep his distance, other men weren't. By appearing to be Jason's girlfriend, she gained a level of respect.

As they walked toward the man in the door, Jason murmured, "What's your name this time?"

She chuckled at that. "I'm Nicky," she said just as quietly. "You said we could come home."

Jason's eyes roved over her hair, and he nodded. Then, he faced the guy watching them. "Cross, this is Nicky Parsons. Nicky, Aaron Cross."

Cross shook her hand. "Pleasure, Ms. Parsons." He eyed Jason. "Until yesterday, I wasn't sure where you were. Tried looking, but. . . ."

She made sure to meet his eyes and was surprised at what she saw. This man was an operative, just like Jason. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Cross."

He snorted. "Just Aaron." He motioned over his shoulder. "You can come in or get some rest."

"As much as I'd love to sleep right now, I need to walk around for a bit." Nicky ignored the way Jason laced their fingers together. _It's just a cover,_ she reminded herself. But a part of her heart didn't want to listen. "Do you mind if I look around?"

Aaron shook his head and, after leading her inside, introduced her to Manuel and Bobby. There were several other guys working nearby in the massive living room, but the house captured her attention. It looked like a mini-castle from the street, complete with the rounded corners common in Victorian homes. Hardwood floors needed restoration, as did almost everything else. But, based on the structure she saw, it would be beautiful when finished. Aaron happily answered her questions about the home, showing a deep understanding of restoring old things, and she was suddenly grateful he'd found Jason. While still an operative and watching her every move, Aaron was settled. She paid careful attention to how he carried himself and what he said—or didn't say—and knew that, though he still had his issues, this guy would be one of the best men to understand Jason's particular brand of neuroses.

Finally, he led her back to the main room, where Jason was bent over a table saw, working with Manuel. "It's nearly lunch time, so why don't we take you to where you'll be staying?"

Nicky smiled at Aaron. "That sounds great." She hesitated. "You're sure your friend won't mind?"

He seemed slightly startled that she knew he'd made arrangements with a friend. "Marta's looking forward to having you around," he said softly. But something in the way he hesitated told her that might not be entirely accurate.

The lunch break came a few minutes later, and Jason tucked himself into the front of her Ford Focus, watching their surroundings as she followed Aaron through Chicago's lunch rush. "It's different," he said suddenly. When she frowned, he pointed. "The hair."

Nicky touched the permed blond waves. "It's changing back to my normal color soon."

He didn't say anything, but the way he studied her made her want to shift in her seat. She glanced over her shoulder, changing lanes when Aaron did so. "This person I'm staying with? Marta?"

Jason turned to watch Aaron's truck. "She's Cross's girlfriend, I think. Things aren't that good between them, but I haven't asked."

Nicky picked up the unspoken message. Jason still had issues with the death of his own girlfriend, Marie Kreutz. "I won't mention anything."

The rest of the ride passed quietly, with both of them neither comfortable nor uneasy. Jason was so different from what she remembered, and she didn't need to remind herself of that fact. It was obvious in how he leaned wearily on the door and closed his eyes. Nicky glanced over again as they parked in the garage of a high-rise apartment building. "Still have headaches?"

Jason blinked his eyes open. "They're worse at night."

A moment later, Aaron Cross appeared beside the car and put an end to the conversation. As Nicky slowly climbed out, he started explaining how he and Marta had evaded the Joint Special Operations Command version of Treadstone until they managed to bring everything down. The way he talked about her, with respect and a tinge of affection, told Nicky more than he'd intended. He meant his explanation to be concise and factual. It came out as such, but she had been trained to notice the emotion behind the words. And his unspoken emotions said he was head over heels about Dr. Marta Shearing.

The good doctor's apartment overlooked Lake Michigan. Nicky stayed close to Jason as they rode the elevator to the correct floor, seeing the dark circles under her eyes in the polished brass of the walls. It also gave her an opportunity to study both men. Aaron leaned against the back wall, at ease to anyone who didn't know what to look for. But his tailored leather jacket and jeans hid at least two guns, and he probably had several knives on him. His hands, while calloused from his work in the construction trade, were also deadly weapons. Jason, who wore his t-shirt untucked, was also armed. Nicky had spent years around men like this, and they didn't really unnerve her. What did was the security camera in the elevator and the fact that, while they glanced at it, neither man seemed to duck away from it.

By the time Aaron knocked on Dr. Shearing's door, Nicky was ready to collapse. The adrenaline brought on by her arrival in Chicago had faded, leaving her almost weaving on her feet. She needed sleep after the hours of caffeine and driving. Not to mention the residual fear of being discovered and hauled back to Washington State. But no one had stopped her or asked any questions, so she prayed the police would lose the trail as Nicky reemerged from hiding.

A tall brunette answered Aaron's knock within seconds. She was about an inch shorter than Nicky, but she had that slender look of a woman who spent years on the run. Aaron quietly introduced both guests, giving Nicky and Jason the chance to examine her and her home. Dr. Marta Shearing did her own assessment, her eyes sweeping over their forms and lingering more on Jason than Nicky. She watched him carefully as he peeked down the hallway that led to the right of the front door and around the massive living/dining/entertainment room.

Nicky did her own inspection. The apartment was beautiful. With vaulted ceilings throughout the entire place, floor-to-ceiling windows, and track lighting, it was warm and comfortable without feeling crowded. The front door opened into a small entryway that widened into the multipurpose room. The kitchen was just to the left, a huge area with dark wood cabinets and stainless steel appliances that made the woman in Nicky want to settle immediately. She'd had such a tiny place for so many years that the sheer luxury astounded her.

Hardwood floors in the same dark shade as the cabinets caught the sunlight that came in the windows, the view of Lake Michigan breathtaking. The furniture was an interesting mix of modern and vintage, dark wood and cream upholstery blended with country blue and rich red accents. It didn't feel too patriotic, though, and the warm tan walls softened anything that seemed too harsh. Two hallways led off either side of the great room, and Nicky glimpsed a large bathroom with marble tile and gleaming fixtures. The other hallway likely led to yet another set of rooms.

Turning to her hostess, Nicky smiled. "You have a beautiful home, Dr. Shearing." She meant every word. While Jason spent his time staring out the window, transfixed with the view, Nicky took another appreciative glance around.

Her hostess smiled. "Thank you. And call me 'Marta.'"

Nicky nodded. "I'm Nicky." She blinked, noting the grittiness in her eyes. "Thank you for letting me stay here."

Marta sent an uncertain glance toward Aaron, one that told her guest she wasn't too keen on having two former members of Treadstone in her home. "Your room's this way." She headed down the hallway Nicky had noted earlier.

Jason almost followed, but Nicky gave him a quick shake of her head. She caught Aaron watching their interactions and knew Jason's boss had a better grasp on what Jason felt than she did. Part of Nicky wanted to pick the man's brain, to learn why he offered Jason a job and what motivated him to seek out another operative who could be volatile and dangerous. But she knew she wouldn't get anywhere. Men like Jason and Aaron opened up in their own time and way. The other part of her just wanted to collapse and sleep for a week.

Marta led her into another massive room. The vaulted ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows continued in here, but curtains obscured the view. The room was painted the same tan as the rest of the apartment, with the same hardwood floors and blend of furniture. Cream-colored rugs offered a bit of softness to the floor, and the queen-sized bed was luxuriously made up with brown and pink bedding. The bedside tables each had pendant lamps hung over them, and a chair and ottoman formed a sitting area in one corner. The rest of the floor was clear save for a large closet and dresser with a huge mirror. Nicky didn't need the mirror to tell her she looked pale and exhausted.

Marta shrugged from the door. "It's not much, but. . . ." She motioned toward the hallway. "The bathroom is out here, and you're welcome as long as you need. I'm off today, but I'll be working the rest of the week."

Nicky realized she hadn't said a word except in greeting. "This is fine, Marta. It's. . . ." Her voice trailed off. How did she explain that her apartment in Seattle had only been about a fifth of the size of this one? Instead, she offered another tired smile. "I really do appreciate you letting me stay."

Marta stared awkwardly before sighing. "You're the first guest I've had. But when Aaron called. . . ." She met Nicky's eyes. "I understand."

Nicky didn't need to say anything else. Marta left her alone, and Jason took her spot at the door. He glanced around. "You're okay?"

Nicky nodded. "I'm fine, Jason. I just need some sleep."

He stood awkwardly in the doorway before rapping his knuckles against the frame in a motion that must have been picked up since she'd known him. "I'll come by later. Maybe we can. . .I don't know. Go to dinner?"

A genuine smile broke out on her face. "Make it tomorrow evening. I've got to rest and get used to being here first."

Jason agreed with a smile and nod before he left. Once alone, Nicky dove for her bag and the shower, nearly groaning in relief as the hot water pounded the tension from her shoulders. She'd been more nervous over this meeting and transition than any of them. She believed Jason when he said Treadstone and the other programs had been taken down permanently, but that paranoia wouldn't leave her alone. She'd seen hints of it in Marta Shearing's eyes and knew that the good doctor could be a great friend to have. . .if they could get over their initial wariness of one another.

Within thirty minutes, Nicky was face down in the huge bed, soundly sleeping for the first time in days.

oOo

Marta watched Jason head to Nicky's room, giving the man a wide berth in the hallway while kicking herself for it. He obviously cared about Nicky, whether romantically or otherwise, and she knew what that level of attraction meant. Men like Jason and Aaron didn't just let themselves fall for anyone.

Thinking of Aaron made her want to both smile and cry. They'd had their disagreements over the last week, primarily centering around Jason and the distance between their homes. Marta could not leave the city, not with her projects at work. But Aaron had been wound so tightly that the only way he stayed sane was to get out of the city. It was a separation that they couldn't compromise on, and it strained them in new ways every day.

Now, Aaron puttered in her kitchen, having helped himself to a glass of water while she'd settled Nicky. Their unspoken rule—that they had free reign in the other's home—was sometimes annoying when she found him waiting for her with a freshly cooked meal. At other times, like now, she was grateful he had something to do besides stare at her. She didn't think she could handle Aaron's scrutiny right now, not when she was on edge and nervous about the two other people in the house. Instead of joining him in the kitchen, she headed to the windows that had transfixed Jason and looked out. Behind her, Aaron set the glass in the sink with a telltale clunk and moved across the room. She heard every step and knew he took care to make his footsteps obvious to her. If he'd wanted, he could have easily just "appeared" at her side without warning. "Thanks," he said softly, almost directly in her ear.

She turned to him, trying for a direct glare in spite of the minute tremor that went down her spine when he spoke. She always reacted that way when he whispered in her ear, and he had often used it to his advantage. Even now, she saw how it thrilled him that the sound of his voice could have such an impact on her. His gray-blue eyes met hers, though, without any hint of ulterior motive. "Aaron, you brought Jason into your home. I know she's not a civilian, but she's not an operative, either. And if you can have Jason Bourne in your house, I can give his friend a place to stay for a while."

He smiled at that. "I owe you," he said softly as Jason reappeared. Turning from her but not stepping back, he spoke in a normal tone. "Everything good?"

Jason nodded and turned to Marta. "Thank you, Dr. Shearing."

She couldn't stop the warm smile that escaped at his awkward stance. It seemed as if he didn't quite know how to accept kindness from anyone. In that moment, Jason Bourne ceased to be an operative and simply became a man who had nowhere else to go. "She's welcome as long as she needs."

The two men left a few moments later, Aaron whispering a promise to take Marta to a nice dinner on Friday. As the door closed behind them, she drifted into her kitchen to put the glass he'd used into the dishwasher. Then, she made her way to the opposite end of the apartment from Nicky's room and opened her office. The three-bedroom apartment was a splurge, she knew, but after living in a rundown old house before Manila and then the hovels she and Aaron had stayed in after the Philippines. . . .She felt it was deserved. She spent the rest of her afternoon typing up results from her latest experiments and preparing her findings in case the higher-ups wanted her to brief them.

Just after four that afternoon, Marta heard someone moving around the rest of her house. For just a moment, she froze. Then, she saved her work. She found Nicky standing at the windows, wearing fresh clothing and looking more rested than previously. She spoke softly, taking care not to spook the other woman. "Would you like some coffee?"

Nicky turned and smiled. "That would be wonderful. Thank you."

Marta went to the kitchen and started the coffee maker, putting out two cups, coffee creamer, sugar, and some cookies. She was starting to get hungry herself, so she knew Nicky was probably starving. Searching for a topic of conversation to bridge the gap between the two of them, she failed miserably until Nicky fixed her coffee and leaned against the counter. The blond woman met her eyes. "So, not Treadstone?"

Thankful to have that topic thrown out, Marta leaned against the counter on the opposite side of the kitchen. "No." She sipped her coffee. "I worked for Sterisyn-Morlanta on a defense project called Outcome."

Nicky frowned. "I think that one was after my time."

"What exactly did you do for Treadstone?" For some reason, being able to openly talk about the programs that made Aaron and Bourne who they were was a relief. Marta didn't know Nicky, but the other woman seemed direct. She could appreciate that.

"I coordinated field logistics in Paris when Jason went off the grid, and I monitored the mental well-being of operatives in the field." Nicky's tone said she was very educated and very well-trained. "After Jason and Tangier, I just. . . ."

Marta understood. "I was a virologist. Still am," she admitted softly. "Outcome was a beta-program, based on Treadstone but with deeper issues. We had figured out how to. . .upgrade. . .the human body through genomic targeting. To use virus and pills to create stronger, faster, smarter operatives." She shook her head, the residual guilt of her time at Sterisyn washing over her again. "I never questioned it. I thought I was doing the right thing. It took Aaron to help me see what was happening."

Nicky listened, sipping at her coffee and nibbling on one of the cookies. She frowned when Marta's words trailed off. "So, Aaron's been upgraded? How?"

"I won't get into the specifics." Marta smiled. "Aaron wouldn't mind, but it's not my story. The basics of it is that he's been physically and cognitively upgraded. While Jason Bourne has years and training on his side, Aaron has strength and agility. I watched him take out an entire hit squad that came to my house when we met. He doesn't talk about his work for Outcome often, but he was sent on some of the toughest missions, and it's all because of what I did to him."

"And these upgrades are permanent?"

"Yes." Marta set aside her coffee cup. "It wasn't easy. We used virus to target the specific genomes that needed 'fixing.' And taking him off the medication. . . .The only way to make those upgrades permanent was to inject him with live virus. He nearly died both times."

"Both times?"

"We—Outcome—did it once with the physical side of things without his knowledge." Marta wrapped her arms around her waist, remembering that first conversation on the side of the road when she'd told Aaron the "kitchen" for the chems was in Manila. "I did it the second time at his request."

"Why?" Nicky also set aside her coffee, reaching for another cookie. "Why not let him go back to the way he was before? Or was that not an option?"

"Not for Aaron."

For a long moment, the kitchen was silent as the two women studied each other. Then, Nicky spoke. "In Treadstone, we just brainwashed them." She chuckled mirthlessly. "We took soldiers—men who were already physically trained—and put them through things no human should have to go through. It wasn't perfect, but it was effective. Until Jason went off the grid. We didn't even know what had happened to him for a time, and then he turned up with no memory of who or what he was. He just. . . .He was completely blank."

"And now?" Marta asked. Part of her—the scientist—wanted to study Jason Bourne and see if there was a way she could help him. After all, Outcome with all of its failings had still given Aaron the chance at a life beyond state homes and therapists.

"I don't know him now," Nicky said bluntly. "The last time I saw him was in Tangier. Almost three years ago."

Marta nodded. "That's the same time that hit squad came to my house."

"They were cleaning up." Nicky straightened. "I got caught in it and couldn't let Jason go on his own. Not when I could help him."

"Why?" Marta supposed it was a fair question since Nicky had done her share of prying. She wasn't prepared for the way the other woman suddenly glanced away.

"I cared," Nicky said softly. "Maybe too much."

In that moment, Marta realized the common ground she had with Nicky Parsons. Both of them were women caught up in programs and evils bigger than they realized, working with men they loved but couldn't seem to connect to, and trying to do everything to help those men. She decided to change the subject before either of them became too upset. "So, are you up for going out, or do you want to order in?"

Nicky's eyes slanted her way, a grin coming to her lips. "I'd love some good pizza." Her hand went to her hair to run through the blond curls. "And a good hair dresser if you know of one who doesn't need an appointment."

Marta reached for her phone. "I've got a friend—wife of someone I work with. She can probably fit us in on short notice."

The two women spent the evening getting pampered, Marta insisting on paying for manicures, pedicures, and facials. Nicky had her hair dyed back to her natural color and straightened from the perm she'd put in it eight months ago. Then, they went for pizza and ended up laughing as they shared stories of their time on the run. By the time they returned to the apartment, they'd found their footing with one another. And Marta felt like she'd found a friend.

~TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Oh, goodness! So sorry for the late update, but it's been a weird weekend. This chapter contains spoilers for my one-shot, "Christmas In Sydney." Hope you enjoy! ~lg

oOo

Jason wasn't able to take Nicky to dinner the next day as planned. He woke early and went on his run, as usual, and had just started dressing after a hot shower when he heard a minor explosion and cursing coming from the kitchen. He yanked his t-shirt over his head as he rushed down the stairs to see Cross glaring at the coffee maker. The scent of electrical burning hung in the air, and the horrifying wallpaper had caught fire and singed the wall and under the cabinet. Cross looked unharmed, however, just irritated that he wouldn't get his coffee. The circuit for the kitchen had tripped, and much of the area was dimmer than Cross liked.

With a deep sigh, the Outcome agent informed Jason that he would stay here and take care of the wiring. Jason helped with breakfast while Cross called an electrician, and he left a bit later, swinging in for coffee before he joined Manuel and Bobby at the job site.

After a long day at work, he returned home to find Cross in a destroyed kitchen. The contents of the cabinets had been stacked in the dining room, and the house felt more like a construction zone than a home. Cross hadn't worried about protecting the linoleum floor as he intended to replace it with hard wood, and he appeared perfectly content when Jason found him on a ladder, removing wallpaper. Bits of the walls had been cut out to get to the wiring, and Jason spotted the backs of several cabinets that had also been destroyed.

Cross turned and watched Jason drop his keys in the basket next to the door. "How'd things go today?"

Jason shrugged. "You know Manuel." He carefully stepped over bits of wallpaper as he surveyed the area. "All talk. . . ."

"No action?" Cross went back to scraping the last of the wallpaper from above the stove. "I should have the noisy stuff done by the time you get home tonight." At Jason's surprised glance, he smirked. "You're taking Nicky out to dinner, right?"

Jason glanced at his watch and stifled a curse. He _had_ promised her dinner. Tugging his phone from his pocket while reminding himself that Cross had superb hearing, he wondered if the "normal" thing to do would be to cancel or go. When Nicky answered her phone, he automatically smiled at the hint of laughter in her tone. "It's me," he said softly as he climbed the stairs.

"Hi!" She started moving things around on the other end of the line, likely clothing based on the rattle of paper and plastic bags. "You caught me before I could call you. I'm running late."

Jason heard Cross curse as he closed the door to his room and lowered his voice. "Actually, I need to reschedule. Cross had an electrical explosion this morning and is still dismantling the kitchen. I kind of. . . ." He floundered. It sounded so easy to explain that he lived here rent-free and felt responsible for helping.

"I understand." Her voice said she truly did and wasn't upset in the least. "Marta and I were just talking about movies, anyway."

Jason smiled at that, something that wasn't planned or even expected. He hadn't had much cause to smile or laugh in recent years and usually only did so for his advantage. But Nicky seemed to bring out the best in him. "Sometime this week, for sure."

"Go work," she said firmly. "I'll be fine."

Jason hung up a moment later and bounded down the stairs. He met Cross's eyes. "Where are we?"

To his credit, Cross didn't question his decision. He calmly launched into his plans now that the plumbing and electric had been done.

Just over an hour later, Jason stood on top of the ladder, yanking the upper cabinets from their anchors as Cross stabilized the massive bit of wood from below. They had graduated from just removing the wallpaper to "Aw, heck, let's just gut the whole place." He could see it meant a lot to Cross and didn't complain. He liked the work. It gave him a productive channel for the energy coiling in his gut, and there was a juvenile pleasure to be had in destroying perfectly good cabinets. At Cross's word, he let go of the rickety contraption and watched it fall apart as it hit the floor.

Cross frowned at it. "Huh. That was easier than it should have been."

Jason had no time to comment on the dry statement. A car rolled to a stop outside, and both men responded the same way. It wasn't a vehicle belonging to one of the neighbors. None of them had that telltale knock that said the car needed oil or the slight squeak to the brakes. As he hopped off the ladder, he glanced at Cross. "You expecting company?"

Cross shook his head, reaching for the .45 both men knew was hidden under the table beside the door. At the same time, Jason slipped his hand around the gun at the small of his back as he moved to peek out the front windows. The tension left Cross's face when feminine laughter was heard, and Jason instantly relaxed as he looked outside. He grinned. "Dinner's here."

Cross opened the door, making no move to hide the gun he still held. Nicky and Marta were walking up the drive, holding buckets of fried chicken and dressed for work. Jason shook his head as Cross put the weapon back in its place while the two women entered the home. Marta ignored him, but Nicky watched curiously, and Jason understood. If they were going to spend any time here, Cross wanted them to be able to defend themselves. It made his respect climb a bit higher.

Nicky met Jason's eyes. "Hope you don't mind us crashing your party. But we thought we'd make dinner."

Cross took one of the buckets of chicken from Marta, truly smiling for the first time that day as he opened it and took a deep breath. "Smells good."

Marta rolled her eyes. "There's a reason we picked KFC." She glanced at Jason. "It's Aaron's favorite."

"Fast food. My favorite fast food," Cross clarified as he looked around for a place to put it. He settled for a corner of the coffee table. "Let me find plates and forks, and we'll eat in the office."

Marta joined him, leaving Jason and Nicky alone for a few moments. Jason found himself unable to look away, surprised at the change in her appearance. When he'd seen her yesterday, her hair had been to the bottom of her shoulder blades and frizzy from over-perming it. Tonight, it puddled on her shoulders, just long enough to curl and touch her upper arm but much shorter. And straighter. She'd dyed it back to the dirty blond he'd known, adding the streaks she liked so much.

She ignored the way he stared at her, stepping carefully into the kitchen. "Wow. You guys really did a number in here."

That snapped Jason back into the moment. He shrugged as he looked around. "When you get Cross started, there's no stopping him."

Cross chose that moment to breeze past with plates, forks, glasses, and serving spoons. "You _can_ call me 'Aaron.' I don't mind."

Jason rolled his eyes as Nicky carefully stepped over the debris and took the plates from Cross. He had developed the habit of referring to men by their last names years ago, before Treadstone. It was a military trait, something that either didn't stick with Cross or that he was able to forget. _Aaron,_ he reminded himself as he followed Nicky into the man's office. Not for the first time, he envied her natural ability with people.

Jason had only been this office once—the day Cross hired him. The room was easily as big as Jason's bedroom, though laid out a bit differently. The large windows on the wall opposite the door looked over the neighbor's garage. Cross had added blinds, explaining that the garage belonged to the neighbor's teen daughter and she liked to be an exhibitionist. The massive desk had been angled to face the door and utilize the natural light from the windows. Matching filing cabinets, a credenza, and bookshelves circled the room, and a sitting area now provided a clean, peaceful place for the group to eat. Cross started to wheel the office chair from behind the desk, allowing Nicky and Marta to claim the two padded chairs while Jason dropped onto the floor. He routinely ate like that at work, so Aaron didn't question him. Instead, he ignored the office chair and also settled on the floor.

As the group ate, they discussed the kitchen. Cross listened closely to both women as they offered ideas for the new look. He seemed to crave Marta's approval especially, though he appreciated the insights that Nicky brought. By the time they finished eating, Marta had agreed to outline her ideas.

Jason stayed in place as the pair left the office. Nicky had picked up on the undertones between the two as well and lingered over a second Coke. He smiled at her, trying to make her feel at ease even though he didn't know what to say.

She had no problems filling the silence. "He's doing this house for her, isn't he?" she asked, referring to Cross and Marta.

Jason nodded. "Yeah." He didn't blame the guy. If Marie was still alive, he might have done the same thing. But there was no need to say that to Nicky. Instead, he focused on a different topic. "When did you come back to the States?"

"About a year after Tangier." She shrugged. "Treadstone was looking for me in Europe. I figured I could stay under the radar here." She picked at nonexistent lint on her jeans. "You were right. It does get easier."

He didn't need an explanation. "I'm sorry about that."

"Don't be." She shook her hair out of her face. "I made that choice in Madrid."

Jason couldn't argue with her. He leaned forward and met her eyes. "You did good. Staying off the grid like that."

The smile that touched her face seemed at once incredibly familiar and oh-so-pretty. He wanted to see it again, and that surprised him. Instead of thinking about it, though, he helped her gather the remains of their dinner and rejoin Aaron and Marta, who had moved on from brainstorming about the kitchen to actually working on the kitchen.

By the time the women left, they had a plan in place, the debris picked up, and a good education in what women considered essential for food preparation. Jason doubted either of them would forget this evening for a while, especially when he saw Marta squeeze Aaron's hand and agree to dinner on Friday night. So maybe the elephant in the room would be going away soon. Based on the look in Nicky's eyes, she hoped the same thing as well. And that gave him something else to smile about.

oOo

"So." Nicky's voice floated over to Marta as soon as the two women were in the car. It was nearly ten at night, and both were as covered in grime as Aaron and Jason. Nicky started the car. "You and Aaron."

Marta sighed. _Me and Aaron._ At any other time, it would have been romantic. But not right now. "What about us?"

Nicky shrugged as she drove out of Aaron's neighborhood. "I'm curious. Jason had something similar happen to him while he was running from Treadstone. I kind of wondered if this was the same thing."

"Similar how? He fell in love?" When Nicky nodded, Marta sat back in her seat. "It wasn't like that for me. Not at first."

The silence that followed was oppressive, giving Marta time to put her thoughts in order but also pushing her to explain. "I created him," she nearly whispered. "When it comes down to it, I am responsible for everything Outcome made him do. It was my work and my life to see those men and women as numbers on a page. Not people who put their lives on the line every day."

"What changed?"

"Aaron." Marta propped her elbow on the door, her hand coming up to cover her mouth as she talked. She hated thinking about that horrifying time in her life and had pushed it away for so long. While she and Aaron had been on the run, she managed to think about surviving and getting home. Their relationship had been focused solely on keeping the other alive and staying together. Those precious moments when they retired in whatever flophouse, alley, or apartment they could find were priceless memories. Back then, Aaron would hold her while she talked about the house she wanted and, when he settled in for the night, she allowed her mind to fill with daydreams that they would live like that forever. But the reality of what had happened. . . .Dragging her mind back to Nicky's question, she decided it was easier to talk about how her world fell apart than to think about what went wrong with her dreams. "There was a shooting at the lab. Byer and the others got to a coworker and brainwashed him. I survived. Later, they came to my house and tried to kill me."

"But Aaron was there?"

"Yes." Marta smiled as she remembered those terrifying moments. In all of that, Aaron's steadiness had helped her keep moving. "We burned the house and ran. He was looking for chems, and I just. . .I didn't understand. I didn't get what he was telling me until we were in Manila. By then, he was so sick."

"From taking him off the medication?"

"He'd viraled off all of it." She shook her head. "I watched him for a long time, and there were side effects that he had to overcome. Headaches for a time as his body adjusted to not receiving that daily dose of chemicals. Sometimes, he'll have moments when his hearing overwhelms him. But he copes.

"Anyway, they came for him. Sent some other agent after us." Marta closed her eyes as she remembered that chaotic ride through Manila. "Somehow, we managed to escape. I still. . . .There were so many times on that motorcycle that I just thought we were done. But we got out, on a fishing boat, and were able to get lost for a while."

"And that's when it happened?"

"Yeah." Marta sighed. "He'd been shot, and I had a massive case of stiff muscles. But I saw what the freedom from the chems did for him, how he seemed to absorb the sunshine like it was life itself. Things just went from there. We were in Sydney, Australia, before I really realized what had happened. And I thought. . . ." She really did not want to think about this right now. "I thought it was forever."

Nicky didn't comment on the emotion in her tone. "Jason and I knew each other before he lost his memory." Her voice was firm, resolute. So different from Marta's brokenness. "We had a relationship, one that no one knew about. Then, he went off to kill Wombosi, and, when he did come back, he was different. Blank. There was nothing there. But I had my work and my life to rebuild. So I did. Until Madrid, when I had the chance to bury him for everything he'd done. I just. . . .I couldn't do that. So, I helped him. In Tangier, Blackbriar sent an asset after us, and Jason told me I had to run. It wasn't as romantic as your story, to be honest. Do I still care for Jason? Yes. Is there anything there? No. He's not the same man I loved in Paris."

She stopped at a red light and turned to face Marta. "I know I don't really have a grasp on you or Aaron's situation. Not like someone who could say this. But I'm gonna say it anyway. Stop being so stubborn. Let the man know how you feel about him and work out your differences."

"I wish I could."

"Why?"

"He hates the city. It winds him up so tight that he can't sleep, can't eat, can't think." Marta shook her head again. "And I can't leave."

"Why not?" When she shot a glance at Nicky, the other woman calmly pulled into the late-night traffic. "You love him still. It's just buried under all these layers of things you want and things he wants and things neither of you can give up. Would it really be so bad to let everything go for a while to just be with him again?"

"You don't understand."

Nicky hit the brakes so hard that the tires squealed slightly. She pulled off the road and turned on the emergency flashers. "Maybe I don't know _your_ situation, but I know _mine_. And mine says that I would do anything to have Jason back. _Anything_. I had a life with Treadstone, a career. A _good_ career! I was doing everything I wanted to do. But you know what? It doesn't matter! If Jason so much as indicated he wanted to be with me again, I would leave Chicago, leave the States, and never think twice if it meant I could have it all back. So maybe I don't understand what you went through. Maybe I don't get all the ins and outs of your relationship with Aaron. But I'm telling you that that man is head-over-heels about you. He's rebuilding that house for you, to make your dreams come true. You'd be a _fool_ not to grab on with both hands and never let go."

Marta blinked at the other woman, surprised at the vehemence in her tone and also shamed by the conviction. They hadn't known one another for more than a day, but Nicky already had a handle on her relationship with Aaron. It was disconcerting but also understandable. She'd been trained to monitor the mental health of Treadstone operatives. Marta supposed that sort of job became part of a person's makeup after a while.

_If Jason so much as indicated he wanted to be with me again, I would leave Chicago, leave the States, and never think twice if it meant I could have it all back._ Nicky hadn't shouted, but the level of emotion behind those words. . . .At one point, Marta had thought she and Aaron had that kind of love. But everything had changed. What was it? Their freedom? Her job? His need to do something? Or was it deeper? Was it that Marta felt she deserved this job and the big apartment and the city? Was she really that selfish?

Nicky put the car back in gear and drove the rest of the way in silence. At her apartment, Marta bid the other woman a quiet goodnight and slipped into her master bedroom. This room was the size of Aaron's garage. The king-sized bed dominated one wall with a massive four-poster frame and cream-colored bedding broken by embroidered flowers in tones of brown and taupe. It reminded her of Sydney, Australia, of the night she and Aaron confessed that they loved one another. At the time she bought this place, she had assumed that she and Aaron would live here, sleeping between those sheets and rebuilding their lives. But he had needed something different, and she had been unable to give it to him.

But what about now? Quietly preparing for bed, Marta pulled the blankets around her shoulders and curled into a ball in the center of the bed. She wished for Aaron's arms to hold her right now and then realized that she had just confirmed her worst fears. She loved Aaron Cross, but not enough to sacrifice her dreams for him. In that moment, she cried as she fully understood that he needed more than a woman to warm his bed for a night or two. He wanted her, and, for the first time in months, she wanted to give herself to him. Not sexually, though that would eventually follow. But in a way that was much deeper and much more intimate.

Reaching for the phone, she ignored the whisper in the back of her mind that said it was after midnight. She dialed from memory, not needing the too-bright light of the screen to tell her who she was calling. The phone rang several times, and then his sleep-warmed voice came over the line. "Marta? What's wrong?"

Marta smiled. She had loved—_still_ loved—hearing that tone. "Just wanted to hear your voice."

"Oh." He seemed nonplussed by that, and she heard the rustle of sheets as he turned over in bed. She knew because she recognized that slight grunt. "What's on your mind?"

She hesitated. "Would you have dinner with me on Friday?" When he didn't answer for a long moment, her heart fell. "Aaron?"

The sheets rustled again, and he sounded much more awake when he spoke. "I thought we already were."

She sighed and closed her eyes. "No, not like that. Would you come over, have dinner, sit and talk? Like. . . .would you go on a date with me?"

There was another pause. "You sure?"

"Yes." She rubbed her aching head. "Aaron, I know there's a lot we need to talk about, things that you've tried to bring up and that I've ignored. And talking on the phone when we're both exhausted isn't the place—or the time—to do that. But. . . ." She sighed. "I think I'm ready if you are."

"Okay," he agreed after a long moment. "But this isn't going to be a one-time thing, Marta. If you're serious about this, we'll have to set some rules. And some expectations."

"I know." She smiled, the knot in her gut easing even though her heart clenched at the thought that this could still go wrong. "Aaron, I didn't. . . .I'm sorry."

"Hey." His voice had that same soothing tone it had when he panicked after she told him she loved him. "We'll work it out, okay? We'll get through this."

She let his use of the word "we" wash over her. After all this time, he still thought of them as one unit, not two separate people. "Okay."

They hung up a few moments later, and Marta rolled over in bed. She'd asked him out to dinner, so she needed to be the one to make preparations. If she wanted this thing to work between them, she needed to give as much as he had over the months. Now that she was honestly assessing their relationship, she saw where she'd expected Aaron to come running when she called, to be the one to give, to be there for her. Yet, she hadn't done the same for him.

_Well, that stops now,_ she thought firmly. Nicky's little explosion had done wonders for shifting how she thought. If she could have that close relationship with Aaron back, what would she give up? Right now, she couldn't say that she'd give up everything. But she could say she'd try.

And that was all that mattered.

oOo

Aaron sat on the side of his bed, his phone in his hand as he tried to process what had just happened. After Nicky and Marta left, he and Jason had gone for separate bathrooms to clean up and get some sleep. The gutted kitchen would remain that way until the evenings, when the two men could put it back together. Neither one could take any time off on this new job, not if they wanted to stay on their schedule. But they could still use things like the stove and microwave, though the latter now sat on a table near an outlet rather than on the counter.

Aaron had been sleeping deeply for the first time in a week when Marta called. At first, he almost ignored the call until he recognized her ringtone. Then, he panicked. Her call, while inconsequential when compared to the myriad of horrible things that could have happened, had awakened him quicker than almost anything else. She wanted to go on a date. And he had agreed.

Growling at his now-whirling brain, Aaron stood and wandered to the window. The neighbor's Chihuahua was yapping again, making him want to snipe the thing rather than listen. But he stayed in place. If he did decide to sharp-shoot the dog, he wanted more of an excuse than "My not-quite-girlfriend just called."

What did he want from Marta? He needed to consider that now before this dinner with her. Because, if he honestly wanted things to stay the same, neither of them needed to pursue it. But if he wanted things to change. . . .And he did. Aaron knew himself well enough to know that he'd missed what they had before they settled in Chicago. Marta had been his anchor during those first few months, but she had been unable to let go of the job she so dearly loved. If he went into this relationship, he needed her to know that he couldn't take a back seat to her job. Not like this. Yes, her work was important and would change lives. It had changed his life. But he wanted to be first in her life, just like everything he did was to build something she could depend on when things got rough. As much as she needed him to catch her, he needed her there to support him. It went both ways.

He spent the remainder of the night at the window, working out his own expectations and getting ready for what would possibly be the oddest evening of his entire life: his first date.

oOo

The adobe building in the middle of the desert had nothing to indicate its importance. It squatted in mesquite-ridden land, the wind stirring up the red and brown dust that surrounded it. An occasional scorpion or skunk passed by, but the most common visitors were coyotes or jackrabbits. And the dust-coated black car that parked outside.

Inside, however, the place transformed. The walls were still adobe, still thick and insulated. But the main room held dozens of computers, several men and one woman moving in and out of them, careful not to disrupt their colleagues' work. A massive screen on one wall showed a map of the United States, red dots indicating targets they needed to face with numbers next to them. More happened here than just the tracking of one or two men.

Overseeing it all, one man watched closely. Zev Vendel had been an analyst for the National Research Assay Group. When everything fell apart thanks to Aaron Cross, he had managed to get out, to scrounge what equipment he needed and start putting the program back together. Back then, he'd been fascinated with Jason Bourne and his "upgrades." Now, he simply had a mission.

A computer beeped somewhere, and Vendel turned his head. The woman swiveled to meet his eyes. "We have a hit."

"Where?" Vendel moved quickly to her side.

"Chicago." She pulled up the information on her screen. "One of our operatives there caught sight of a target traveling into the city."

"Which target?"

The picture of a woman appeared on the big screen. She was walking through the lobby of a very nice apartment building, a second woman with her who had turned away from the camera. "Dr. Marta Shearing."

Vendel stared at the picture on the screen, a small smile coming to his face. Where Shearing went, Cross was soon to follow. He spoke to another analyst on yet another computer. "Where are we with Byer?"

"Still working." The analyst shook his head. "Sir, with all due respect, we can't just break him out of Leavenworth. We don't have the resources we once had. But he should be here within the next month."

Vendel narrowed his eyes. "Good. Until then, have the asset monitor Dr. Shearing's activity. I want to know everything about her life."

"Yes, Sir."

Vendel smiled at the screen, no longer the naïve analyst he'd been when Ric Byer pulled him in on the project. Back then, he'd seen the science as paramount to a better world. Now, after Cross and Shearing burned his world to the ground and branded him a murderer, he saw the science as a virus. And Shearing was the cause. He intended to eradicate the virus _and_ the cause once and for all.

~TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** Many apologies for not getting this posted yesterday! I came down very sick, so I'm just now thinking clearly enough to do a final edit and post. :)

**Guest #1:** (so named because I had several guest reviews). I agree. But give her a chance.

**Lisa:** Thank you! I agree, she is being an idiot. But, like I just said, give her a chance. :) So glad you're enjoying the story!

**Guest #2:** Thank you for taking the time to leave a review. I agree that Marta is being an idiot, but, like I told the previous two (and everyone else who said the same thing), give her time. She's starting to realize some things. My preferred style of story-telling is to push the envelope of what is the "norm" in the fandom I write for. So, if most writers are doing a happy Aaron/Marta (and there's nothing wrong with that), I tend to go the opposite direction and explore the "What if they're not happy" question. As for Nicky, she's been an interesting character to write with her past being involved with Treadstone but not an operative. I'm so glad you're enjoying the story! And I hope you like how things eventually work out.

**LeochickX:** Really glad you're enjoying the story. :) I hope it holds up for you.

All that said, hope all of you enjoy! ~lg

oOo

Friday came before Jason was really prepared for it. Last weekend, he'd been new to Chicago and the job. This time, he was new to payday. The knowledge that his hard work had paid off in a monetary fashion. . . .He had received paychecks before, but none were as significant as this one. This one meant he was doing something with his life that wasn't centered on violence and death.

But he had to get through the day first. Last night, while Jason pulled up the ugly linoleum in the kitchen, Cross had spent several hours in his office doing payroll. The men were all somewhat restless, talking about their plans for the weekend and egging each other on. Jason knew that Aaron allowed it so long as work got done, and it had become something of a game to listen in on others' conversations. Right now, Manuel and Jose, a new kid around nineteen, chattered away in Spanish. Jason idly listened as he worked, automatically tuned in to everything going on around him. He didn't let on that he even understood until Jose rudely asked why Manuel worked for a "gringo."

Manuel's head came up faster than anything Jason had ever witnessed. "Cross is a good man. Do not think you'll talk bad about him and get away with it. Not around here."

Jose frowned. "What'd he do?"

Manuel snickered. "Ever seen those spy movies? _Mission: Impossible_ or _James Bond_?" When Jose nodded, he continued in a whisper, "Cross is like that. Well, sort of."

Jason's gaze immediately flew to Aaron's, and the two former assets exchanged silent messages. Jason couldn't necessarily put it into words, but he knew Cross was telling him to relax, that he'd overheard the conversation and would take care of things if necessary.

Jose's brow furrowed. "He can fight?" The incredulity in his voice made Manuel's face light up and Jason bury a snicker.

"I seen it." Manuel's voice carried over the hammer he used. "First day on the job. Bobby shows up and tries to act like he's the big man on the block. So, I figure I'll teach him a lesson. That's when Cross stepped in. Dude, it was _sick_!" Manuel became more animated the longer he talked. "All I know is this big dude is comin' at me. I can take him, so I do. We fight for a few minutes, then I'm on my back and can't breathe. So's the other guy. And it's _Cross_ standin' over us! I ain't _never_ seen moves like that!"

Jason couldn't help it. He snickered. He could just see Manuel and Bobby being taken down by Cross. Those two easily outweighed him, but men like Aaron and Jason were trained to take down bigger and badder men than the two ex-cons.

Manuel turned at Jason's snicker. "What you laughin' at?" he demanded in English.

Jason shrugged, his quick glance telling him that Cross was watching out of the tops of his eyes. He responded to Manuel's demand in fluent Spanish. "Just the two of you fangirling over Cross."

Across the room, Aaron covered his laugh with a cough.

Manuel straightened suddenly, and Jason prepared to defend himself. After a tense moment, during which Manuel shot a speculative glance at Aaron, he asked, "Where'd you learn Spanish?"

Jason met his eyes. "Military," he said blandly.

Manuel glared for another moment before turning back to his work. Jason slanted another grin at Cross. The Outcome agent shrugged, and Jason clearly read the gesture. _They were fighting. What was I supposed to do?_

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, and the guys soon gathered around Aaron for their paychecks. Jason knew Cross planned to take Marta out to dinner, but he had no plans of his own. All his spare time had been poured into the kitchen they were remodeling. As Cross handed over the envelope with his first paycheck in it, a stray thought passed through his mind. He _had_ promised to take Nicky to dinner.

The job site emptied in record time, but both Manuel and Bobby stopped long enough to invite Jason to join them. Both men had plans to take their girlfriends out and paint the town red. While spending more time with "normal" people could be good for him, Jason didn't feel like explaining why he took down someone who startled him in a noisy bar. Instead, he politely told them he already had plans. Their minds jumped to "the hot blond" who had visited the house the other day, and he made a mental note to apologize to Nicky.

In his car, he tugged his phone from his pocket and dialed one of two numbers he had on speed dial. "It's me," he said when she answered. "What are you doing for dinner?"

oOo

The restaurant Shearing had chosen for her date was relaxed and classy. A man in a suit sat back at his table, his eyes on every person who came and went. He'd arrived here no less than thirty minutes ago, waiting until now just to get the table he wanted.

Le Colonial was one of Chicago's finest French and Vietnamese eateries. The dining room sported ecru-colored walls, windows edged in dark wood and accented with louvered shutters, dark rattan chairs, linen-covered tables, and an overabunance of potted palms and banana trees. The place had the feel of Southeast Asia in the 1920s, and the trees helped section off certain tables to give the illusion of intimacy.

As a guy in tan slacks and matching sport coat took a seat in one of the more isolated tables, Jesse Chandler glanced toward the doors. From his table, he could see almost everywhere. It helped that he tipped the maitre d' well, because this place was a nightmare if he wanted to keep Shearing in his sights. He sipped his wine as he waited, knowing the good doctor would show up eventually.

Why had she chosen this place? And who was she meeting? It wasn't like Shearing to just spontaneously go to a nice restaurant for dinner by herself. There had to be some reason. He'd followed her since Tuesday, when Base sent him to Chicago, and he'd had no problem picking up her trail. She made no secret of her work, and her patterns, though changed up, weren't enough to throw an experienced asset off her tail. So what did she have planned? Surely she wasn't on a date.

Chandler straightened when his quarry appeared in the door. Dr. Marta Shearing was an attractive woman, standing five-eight and sporting dark brunette hair that seemed to always fall into place. Even when she didn't try, she looked great. The years she'd spent on the run from NRAG had hardened her, but she had not lost that same attractiveness that drew men to her. She wasn't out to impress, and that impressed men more than women who tried.

Tonight, she wore a sleeveless black sheath dress that ended an inch above her knees and hugged her curves in all the right places. She'd accented it with a simple strand of pearls around her neck and pearl studs in her ears. Her hair, pulled up into an elegant ponytail, bounced on her shoulders as she walked past him and never glanced his way. She joined the gentleman in the tan slacks, smiling when he stood and helped her settle in her chair. A waiter rushed over, blocking Chandler's view of her dining companion, and took their drink order.

His meal arrived just as Shearing's waiter left her table. To keep from drawing attention to himself, Chandler draped his napkin over his knee and started eating. The _ga xao xa ot_ was excellent, easily the best chicken he'd eaten in years. The lemongrass flavoring, combined with Portobello mushrooms and basil chili sauce, made paying the prices here—and the irritating task of ducking to see around the palm trees—worth it. If Shearing insisted on eating out like this, at least he wouldn't go hungry.

Finally, after his own waiter made another stop at the table, he felt secure enough to duck around the palm tree. What he saw caused his delicious dinner to congeal in his stomach. Shearing sat with her back to the room, completely oblivious to everything around her. But the man with her. . . .

Chandler quickly stuffed one more bite into his mouth, but his appetite had vanished. The man with Shearing glanced his way, the two making eye contact, before Chandler signaled the waiter for his check. Within moments, Chandler had signed his credit card receipt, declined the offer of a to-go box, and ducked out the door. He walked quickly to his car and then pulled out his cell phone after he was safely inside.

"It's me," he said when Vendel answered. "We've got a problem."

"_What problem?_"

"She's with Outcome 5." Chandler backed out of his parking space and drove away. "And he saw me."

oOo

Aaron watched the man who had been watching them get up and leave. He had spotted the man, pegging him as either an asset or law enforcement, when he first came into the restaurant. But even they were allowed to eat, so he chalked it up to Marta's last-minute change from meeting at her house for dinner to coming here. Still, as he had settled at the table she'd reserved, he kept one eye on the asset and one eye on his menu.

Then, Marta arrived.

She looked incredible, as usual, wearing a dress that looked like the one he'd bought for her in Sydney—one that got ruined the night they had to leave Johannesburg. He'd never been one to mourn over lost clothing, but he had been disappointed that time. Marta looked fabulous in those dresses, and she seemed to wear them comfortably. Seeing her in one tonight, with her hair pulled away from her face and a smile that could drop a man to his knees, told him just how seriously she'd taken their dinner.

Then, after ordering their drinks, Aaron made contact with the asset. He hadn't meant to startle the guy, just let him know, asset-to-asset, that he'd been made. The resulting panic was almost humorous to watch. Within moments, the table had been cleared, and Aaron could relax and enjoy this date with Marta.

She frowned. "Aaron? Everything okay?"

"Yeah." He met her eyes, seeing her obvious discomfort. "This place is nice," he said, making it a point to look around. "Very. . . .1920s."

She laughed. "That's the point."

Aaron smiled at that. He had serious things to discuss with her, and she knew it. But to bring it up now would take the smile from her face. Instead, he reached across the table and just held her hand like he used to do shortly after they met. "How are you doing?"

She understood the weight behind his question. "Good." She shrugged. "Work is crazy, as usual."

"You're still doing. . .uh. . ."

"Viral receptor mapping?"

"Yeah."

She snickered. "Aaron, you don't have to ask about my job. You know what I do, and it hasn't changed." She eyed him. "How's Jason doing?"

Aaron truly laughed at that. "He's creeping the guys out." At her questioning look, he relayed the interchange he'd witnessed that day between Jason and Manuel. He shook his head. "You should have seen Manuel's eyes bug out of his head."

Marta also laughed as their meal arrived. "I wish I could have." She gracefully draped her napkin over her lap. "Manuel will think twice before talking behind Jason's back."

Aaron snorted. "Too bad he doesn't know _I_ speak Spanish as well."

For the next few minutes, they ate in companionable silence. Aaron had ordered _vit quay_, and Marta liked the _bo la lot_. The food was served family style with jasmine white rice, and Aaron took great pleasure in stealing bites from Marta's plate. As the meal progressed, they laughed at nothing and talked about his business, the chances that he'd have another house before the major project he currently had was finished, and when he'd hire more steady workers besides Bobby, Manuel, and Jason. He also told her about his thoughts concerning the work. Maybe he had been given these skills to start teaching men like Jason or Manuel how to live in the real world. And Marta listened closely.

Finally, as they finished eating, Aaron knew he couldn't put off the inevitable much longer. He'd thought of almost nothing else since her late-night phone call, and he had taken the time to truly consider his options before coming tonight. He didn't want to give Marta the impression that this was just dinner, just another evening the two of them spent laughing and talking. It meant more to him—a _lot_ more. "Marta, there's something I need to talk about."

She sensed the seriousness behind his tone and sat up straighter. "O—okay."

"This," he said, motioning between them. "What is this? To you?"

She studied him with those expressive brown eyes. "Tonight? A date."

"A date?" He met her eyes. "A dinner date between friends? Or. . . ."

"A dinner date between a man and a woman who have the potential to be so much more than friends." She frowned. "I thought we settled this the other night when I called."

"No, when you called, I kind of told you how it would be." He tipped his head to one side. "This is me wanting to give _us_ the opportunity to define what we have. And what we want to have."

"You've given this a lot of thought." When he shrugged in answer, she leaned forward and took his hand. "Aaron, when I called you the other night, I meant everything I said. I realized afterward that I probably picked a bad time, that waking you up at that hour probably meant you stayed up. But I couldn't get to sleep until I got it off my mind." She laced their fingers together, her hands smooth against his calloused ones. "We had _so_ much in Sydney, when we stopped for Christmas that first year. Do you remember? Remember how you panicked when I told you how I felt about you? I want that back. Not the running for our lives, but the trust. The _love_ we had. We don't have it anymore, and I want to know if we can rebuild that now that we're able to settle."

He tightened his grip on her hand. "I'm not going to take second place to your job, Marta. Just like I wouldn't expect you to do for mine." He studied their hands. "I understand there will be times when work goes long or an emergency comes up, but those should be fairly rare. _We_ should be the first priority to one another." He met her eyes. "If you can't do that, then I don't want to get my hopes up."

Aaron waited for a response, seeing the impact of his words. For just a moment, her face shattered. He knew what she saw in his face: the loneliness, the need to have a home and a foundation, his love for her. He had never lost what he felt, even if it still frightened him at times, but he couldn't always be chasing her. Not anymore.

Then, a change came over her features. She made a decision, and he saw the effects of it. "I can't just leave the city right now."

"I'm not asking you to."

"I know." She sighed. "Aaron, that house is everything I wanted since I was a kid. And. . . ." She chuckled softly. "I want to be involved in that. I want to know that, if this works out, there's a piece of me in there, too. The other night, when Nicky and I came out, she said some things that really got me thinking. And what we have isn't right. It's not what we wanted, and we finally have the chance to get what we want. So, let's do something about it."

He smiled at that, hearing her decision in her words. She wanted a part of herself in the house. That meant, on some level, she knew she'd leave the city at some point in time. He could accept that. Just as she accepted what it meant for him to be here.

When the waiter brought the check, he insisted on paying and told her she could choose next week's place again. She scowled at him for it but agreed so long as he let her pick out the tile for the kitchen. The condition both startled and amused him, and he couldn't stop the genuine laughter that escaped. The smile that touched Marta's face reminded him of that fishing boat and her comment. _I was kind of hoping we were lost._ As they left the restaurant, headed for separate vehicles, he made arrangements to meet her on Monday at a hardware store in the city. She said she'd cover lunch, and he couldn't resist the offer. Nor did he want to.

At her car, Aaron thought about the asset he'd seen when he first arrived. He opened the car door for Marta and stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Be careful," he said softly. "And call me if you need anything."

"I will." She slid into the car, and he closed the door, standing with his hands in his pockets as she drove out of the parking lot. He didn't see anyone follow her, but that didn't preclude someone waiting for her at her apartment. He knew she'd received his message, and he had to trust that she'd keep her end of the bargain.

Not liking the idea that another asset—or law enforcement that came across as an asset—was in the area, Aaron climbed into his truck and drove home.

oOo

Jason's dinner with Nicky happened in a lovely French bistro in the city. She met him there, smiling when she saw the linen-covered tables and upturned wine goblets. The entire place had a very relaxed environment, though, and Jason was able to settle in a location that didn't make him feel so exposed. Nicky kept the conversation light and focused on the food and her favorites from Paris until they'd placed their orders. Then, she met his eyes. "How are you doing?"

He still didn't remember her. Not really. He had vague flashes of the two of them talking, usually about work, and he'd been told that she had "monitored the mental health of the agents." So, he understood her question. "I'm okay. Getting used to not hiding from cameras and that sort of thing."

Her eyes moved, and he knew she'd spotted an obvious camera focused on the cash register. "I understand." She took a sip of her drink. "How's the job?"

Jason smiled at that. "Good. I like it, and it's something I can do wherever I go." He chuckled slightly. "I got a couple of the guys I work with today. They didn't know I speak Spanish."

Nicky's smile stretched across her face. "And you eavesdropped?"

"They were gushing about Cross." He shook his head. "Manuel seemed impressed I understood him." After an awkward silence, he grabbed for a topic. "What about you? How are you doing?"

"I'm good." She leaned her arms on the table. "It's different. Living with Marta, I mean. I have another person there who understands why I don't just leave the house, why I have to make sure everything's in the right spot all the time."

Jason nodded at that. "The dust rings," he said quietly. It was standard practice for assets to notice if something had been moved in their homes by the displacement of the dust on shelves and around glasses. Such habits became second nature, and he was alternately disappointed and relieved that Nicky had picked up on them.

Why would he be so disappointed? The time that he remembered with her was limited, and even then, it hadn't been all that stellar. Not when he considered that, once, he held a gun to her head and the other time had nearly gotten her killed by Desh.

She scowled. "I dust!" she said vehemently, bringing his thoughts back to the present. "Sometimes."

It was such an ordinary conversation with unusual connotations that both of them laughed. Once again, her smile triggered something deep in his mind, and it made him blink. He really did know her, though _how_ he knew her remained a mystery. More than ever, he wanted to fully understand. "You said we knew each other?"

She picked up on his meaning and straightened, a stiffness coming to her spine and motions that he regretted. "Yes." She met his eyes. "Jason, for both our sakes, don't ask me that right now. _Anything_ but that."

He frowned. "Something wrong?"

"No." But she'd lied. "It's. . . .Seeing Marta leave tonight. . . .It was hard for me."

Those words were almost identical to what she'd said to him on their way to Tangier. _It was difficult. . .for me. . .with you._ What did that mean? Had _he_ done something to her before losing his memory? Or had something been done _to_ her in retaliation for his odd disappearance? "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize."

"No, it's just. . . ." He paused while their meals were delivered. "There's just so much I don't really remember. I know I used to be David Webb. I know how I was brought into. . .this, and why my name was changed. But it's the little things. Birthdays and friends and why I do certain things. They're not essential to survival, but they're important to me." He looked at her, helpless to explain better than that. "I have so many questions about who I was, and you're the only one who can answer them."

Nicky stared at him, not backing down but not giving anything up either. Her eyes were carefully blank, her expression bland. It was that blank gaze that made him realize she had been very good at her job.

He glanced around. "Maybe this was a bad idea."

"No!" She reached across the table but stopped just short of touching him. "I can help, Jason. Just. . .some things. . . ."

He nodded. "I won't ask about us. Okay?" _Why did I say "us?"_

"Okay." She set her fork down. "What would you like to know?"

"Right now?" He tried to put his thoughts in order and found he was having trouble doing that. It was dark outside, and the brightness of the lights in the windows hurt. "Why am I having headaches?"

"It's the conditioning," she answered immediately. For the next hour, they sat at the table and quietly discussed the different ways that Treadstone had "conditioned" him for his work. Jason had realized he'd been brainwashed, but hearing her discuss it as if it were a medical procedure brought home just how messed up he really was. He quizzed her on ways to cope with the headaches, what might help, and how to overcome everything. She didn't hold back, delivering the news that he'd likely deal with the headaches for the rest of his life in a voice so soft it triggered yet another reaction in him. He wanted to reach across the table and hold her hand, to comfort her in spite of no obvious signs of distress.

By the time they left the bistro, Nicky seemed to relax a bit. But Jason couldn't. There was this energy building in him that needed a release, and he knew he wouldn't find it in running or working on the house with Aaron. Some things had to be fought out, and he had no one to fight. He almost dared anyone on the street to look at them wrong just so he could let go of a bit of the rage.

At home, he found Aaron watching from the kitchen and immediately picked up on the other man's tension. "What's wrong?"

Cross shook his head. "You know a guy about six foot, blond, built like a line-backer?"

Jason caught the unspoken question. "No. He come after you?"

"I don't know." Aaron let out a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "When I got to the place Marta picked, there was some guy there. He didn't do anything except watch Marta walk past his table, but something about him. . . .He was an asset."

Jason narrowed his eyes. "Two of us in the same city is odd but not coincidental since you gave me your address. But three of us?"

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

"He follow Marta?"

Aaron smirked. "He bolted the minute he realized I was onto him. But that doesn't mean he doesn't have a mission here."

"You tell Marta?"

Aaron shook his head again. "I told her to be careful. And call if she needed anything. It's a prearranged code we have for when we suspect we're being followed. She'll be careful."

Jason saw the uncertainty in the other man's gaze. "This the first time something like this happened since you two. . .uh. . .lived apart?"

"Is that a nice way of asking if this is the first time something like this happened since we broke up?" Cross met his eyes. "We're dating, working on what we have and/or had, and yes. The last few times this happened, I was there. With her."

Jason didn't need to tell the other man that Marta knew what she was doing. Cross was already doing that for him. Instead, he simply nodded. "I'll call Nicky. Tell her to be on the lookout. But, if anything happens, Marta really does need to know."

Aaron accepted with a nod and went into his office. Jason didn't follow. Climbing the stairs he pulled out his phone and sighed deeply. The life they'd all lived had not been an easy one, and paranoia could keep them from moving forward. But if Cross was right, if this was an asset after one of them, then it could get very ugly very quickly.

With that in mind, he dialed Nicky's number and waited.

~TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: **First of all, let me apologize for the late posting. As I've said in many of my review replies, I've been pretty sick. Now that I'm getting back on my feet, I'm back to writing and posting. Also, there's a part in this chapter where I realize that, realistically, there should be a _lot_ more profanity. As I personally do not use profanity either in my daily life or writing, I'll leave it up to the reader to fill in what he/she thinks is necessary.

**Lisa:** Thank you for your review! Having Aaron and Marta on the right track is a relief, honestly! I can get on with the rest of the story. :) Which I'm very glad you're enjoying!

That said, I hope you all enjoy! ~lg

oOo

_The Paris night was quiet as Jason stared at the ceiling. He'd been to South Africa this time, hunting down someone suspected of financing 9/11. The attack on American soil was still fresh in everyone's minds, and even Treadstone had been put to work tracking and eliminating threats to the United States. Jason knew a few of those threats were more political than military, but he did his job either way._

_His latest mission had been one of those questionable ones. He had arrived in his spot, set up his nest, and waited with a long-range rifle. The first time he saw the mark, the man had been with his wife and kids. And that made him think. Would he ever look that happy? Much to Conklin's dismay, he held off completing the mission until the man was alone, refusing to let the children be left with that memory of their father. When he returned to base in Paris, he reported in and immediately came here: a safe house he'd set up without Treadstone's knowledge._

_The sheets rustled as the woman next to him shifted in her sleep. Jason looked over, enjoying the absolute trust she placed in him. When he first met Nicky Parsons, he had seen her as a necessary—if disliked—part of his job. But she had become so much more. Conklin didn't know about their relationship as it would violate several unwritten but very enforced rules. Falling in love was treated just as severely as refusing a direct order, and Jason had never refused an order. If he was told to break ties to Nicky. . . .He didn't want to think about how he'd react in that case._

_Yes, he had fallen in love with her. As he watched the moonlight play over her bare shoulder, he wished he could have what his target had. But with her. The house, the kids, the obvious love that shone through everything they did. . . .To have that with Nicky would make his life complete._

Jason snapped out of the dream, instantly wide awake and panicking. He rarely dreamed about quiet moments, and Marie usually dominated those dreams. Why would Nicky invade his dreams _now_? Was it because of their dinner? Because he really did care about her? Or was this something more, something from his past?

Pushing back the covers, Jason rose and went to the bathroom. After splashing cold water on his face, he stared at himself in the mirror. _It was difficult. . .for me. . .with you._ Those words had haunted him and made him wonder what she meant. Was she referring to a relationship the two of them had shared, one that he no longer remembered?

Giving up on going back to bed, Jason dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, pulling his running shoes on in a quick move. He crept downstairs, barely making a sound as he slipped out the front door. Aaron being who he was, he likely knew Jason had left the house, but Jason trusted the other man to give him space. He needed to think, but thinking was getting him in trouble.

The pounding of his steps on the pavement managed to clear his head after several miles, but he still ran. It would make for a long day, but he thankfully only had work around Aaron's house, not his job. He could step back if he needed, not that he would. Life was still a struggle for him, and taking Nicky to dinner had somehow helped in that. It gave him another person who had been in Treadstone, someone else who understood how the program operated. He and Aaron had never discussed their respective issues or programs in detail, so he couldn't be certain that Outcome was the same.

Circling back to the house, Jason ended his run just before dawn. He slipped back into the house and upstairs, climbing into a hot shower to wash the sweat from his body. As the water pounded on his shoulders, he decided that he would learn what he and Nicky were to one another. He just needed to know the best way to do that.

oOo

Chandler's entire perspective on his mission changed with the revelation that Shearing and Aaron Cross were still involved. Not that he hadn't expected it, but he'd taken precautions to avoid spooking the good doctor. Having Outcome 5 realize he was there. . .it added a new level of danger that, after he reported to Vendel, made the job that much more satisfying.

He knew well who Outcome 5 was and the man's capabilities. In the three years since Cross and Shearing escaped the kill squad sent to her house, Cross had redefined his place in life. "Outcome 5" became less of an impersonal designation and more of a name only whispered in intelligence circles. Lately, it had become as synonymous with trouble as the name "Jason Bourne," another man Vendel planned to catch if he ever turned up. The remnants of NRAG had known that tracking Shearing would lead them to Outcome 5, but Chandler had hoped it would take a bit longer. He didn't need his operation blown simply because Aaron Cross got spooked. A spooked asset was a dangerous asset, and Chandler required calm and assurance to do his job correctly.

The day after Shearing's dinner with Cross, Chandler rented an apartment in a building adjacent to hers. He would have to be careful from now on to avoid startling her, and distance gave him the opportunity to truly get a handle on her life. From his new apartment, he could use his equipment to see directly into hers. He spent the day "moving into" his new space and setting up surveillance gear. His telescope and rifle went next to the window, computer and tech on the table, personal items in the bedroom. The place was bigger than he needed, but it afforded him the perfect vantage point. And, if the time came, he'd have a clear shot. Not that Vendel would order a sniper hit. The man might be bitter, but he was no killer. Byer, on the other hand, had no qualms with the morality of their missions.

With everything in place, Chandler settled behind his telescope. Vendel wanted to know everything about Marta Shearing's life, and it was Chandler's job to find out what her weaknesses were. He was determined to have a plan to eliminate the threat of Outcome 5 and Jason Bourne by the time Byer returned to freedom. And, if Chandler happened to enjoy the process, then he was just doing what he had been trained to do.

oOo

On Saturday, Aaron and Jason finished replacing the hardwood floors that were destroyed by the linoleum in the kitchen. They moved from that to installing the lower cabinets and then promptly collapsed for the weekend. After making a quick dinner, Jason crawled into bed completely and satisfyingly exhausted. He slept late on Sunday, allowing his body the rest it craved and enjoying the lack of dreams of any kind, and then rose to find Aaron sitting in the back yard and drinking coffee. He joined the other man, dragging a chair over to the shade of the house. The neighborhood was quiet, the Chihauhua that kept them up at night silent, and the morning cool. It was a peace that Jason had not known in a long time.

The back yard was completely different from the rest of the house. The sliding glass doors in Cross's dining room led to a patio with a grill and porch swing. The back had another patio, one that Aaron had used to set up exercise equipment under the roof, and several garden lounge chairs. Both Aaron and Jason leaned back on the chaise lounges, their feet propped up and the sun starting to ease over the peak of the house. Jason ironically noted that Aaron had slipped off his shoes and now curled his toes in the sun. It was so normal and mundane that he almost laughed.

Instead, he nodded toward the building in the rear corner. "What's that?" he asked as he studied the L-shaped structure a little larger than the garage. It was crammed into the yard, almost touching the house, with a path leading around the side of the main house and to the driveway. "Shed?"

Cross shook his head. "Guest house." He pushed himself to his feet and shoved them into sandals, motioning for Jason to follow. "Once I finish the kitchen, this is my next project."

The guest house surprised Jason. It was a two-room affair consisting of a main room and three-quarter bathroom. The ceilings were vaulted with exposed wood beams, and the floor looked like it would refinish beautifully with a distressed feel. The building, while old, was structurally sound and had obviously been somewhat maintained. But the fixtures and cabinets in the kitchen area were outdated, and the wear and tear could be seen. At first, as he noticed all the details, Jason wanted to scoff at himself. Then, he figured it was only natural considering what he now did for a living.

As he wandered into the bathroom, Jason thought about his situation. After two weeks, he felt as if he'd begun invading Aaron's home. He wasn't ready to be on his own yet, not with the dreams just starting up and the residual energy and adrenaline building in his body. He needed another person close, and he couldn't just rent an apartment. His neighbors wouldn't understand why he woke up shouting some nights, why he needed to take midnight runs, why he hesitated to answer the door because he was ensuring his weapon was loaded and ready, why he always checked every room when he first arrived. . . .The list went on. Even in a "safe place," those instincts would take years to overcome.

The guest house gave him a different option. It needed a lot of work, but it was a project Jason could sink his teeth into, so to speak. He already had ideas running through his mind, thanks to Aaron's insistence that everyone contribute to the design of a house, and he liked what he saw. But he needed to let himself consider the consequences. Cross had offered him a place to stay, rent-free, until he got on his feet. Would he offend the man if he asked to rent this place? Or would it be a relief? Jason couldn't answer the questions, but he decided talking them over with Nicky might be best. Why her opinion mattered was a question he left alone for now. Just having her close was all he needed right now.

oOo

Aaron watched the expressions passing over Jason's face as the other man surveyed the guest house and understood. Both of them were independent, accustomed to getting by on their own. Living in the same house, while comfortable, was still a strain. He appreciated Jason's help with the kitchen, and the Treadstone agent had picked up everything Aaron had taught him effortlessly. But he also knew the energy, the tension, the need to release adrenaline that built up. It had resulted in some explosive disagreements with Marta when he hit that stage, but Jason had no one like that with whom to argue. And Aaron didn't think Nicky would volunteer for the job.

Leaving Jason to his thoughts, Aaron returned to his yard with a sigh. This—a house in the suburbs where he could take a Sunday to enjoy his back yard—was what he'd wanted for himself and Marta. Thinking of her put a smile on his face, and he wondered if she'd like to come out for lunch. The weather was perfect for a barbecue, and he could make a quick trip to the store for steaks.

Making an instant decision, he tugged his phone from his pocket and dialed. Marta was as early a riser as he, so she answered immediately and agreed before he even got the full request out of his mouth. He made sure to tell her to bring Nicky if the other woman wanted to come, and they signed off a few moments later.

Bourne finally came out of the guest house, that same thoughtful expression on his face. "That's a nice place."

Aaron nodded as he picked up his coffee cup and realized his drink had gone cold. "One of the reasons I bought the place." He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "Anyone I want to let stay with me might not like being in the main house all the time."

Bourne nodded once, but he didn't say anything else. Aaron left him to his thoughts, refreshing his coffee and looking critically around his house. The mess would have to stay for another day. He'd been working almost nonstop and obviously needed to take the day to enjoy his friends. Then, he smiled. He could say he had friends.

In his line of work, that meant a lot.

oOo

By Monday morning, Aaron felt completely refreshed by the weekend. Yes, he and Jason had put in a good deal of work on the house, but he'd also done almost nothing work-related on Sunday. Having Marta and Nicky over seemed like the logical thing to do that afternoon, and they'd sat in the back yard, smelling the grill as Jason insisted on cooking the steaks and laughing like old friends. There had been a bit of tension between Jason and Nicky, but nothing that kept them from relaxing. In the end, the two pairs had found the time to share more of their stories. Aaron had kept an eye on Marta during the whole thing, but she exhibited none of the reticence she'd shown during the Senate hearing and subsequent trials.

All in all, it helped the two couples understand one another much better. Jason skirted around the topic of Marie, mentioning her in passing. "Before Marie" or "after Marie died" were common ways for him to tell time and, until their little cookout, Aaron had not known that Jason Bourne didn't remember everything about his life. Now that he did, it helped him understand the other man a bit more.

Just before lunch on Monday, Aaron and Manuel had gone to the truck to retrieve some twelve-foot-long boards Aaron had picked up over the weekend. The two were just about to heft them onto their shoulders and cart them inside when the scuff of a shoe and the telltale sound of jeans dragging the ground caught Aaron's ear. He turned, a frown in place, as five African-American men swaggered onto the property. He knew without looking that Manuel had tensed, and that would have been enough to set him on edge had he not already been concerned. Waving at the ex-con to tell him to stay put, Aaron straightened as the five newcomers acted as if they were just going to walk in and take over the place.

Seeing the gang signs and recognizing that at least three of them were carrying firearms, Aaron moved to intercept. "Hey, guys. Can I help you with something?"

Their leader, a kid not more than twenty-two and cocky, invaded Aaron's space, glaring down at him from at least six-feet tall. "Yeah. Get outta da way."

"Sorry, can't do that." Aaron met the kid's eyes. "This is an active construction zone, and only authorized individuals are allowed in for safety sake." He sensed movement behind him and knew that the rest of his crew had seen the confrontation and had come to watch.

"I said, get outta. Da way," the kid replied, moving to push past Aaron.

"Whoa, hold on." Aaron put out a hand to stop him. "I can't just let you walk in there. Why don't you tell me what you want, and we'll sort this thing out here."

"What we want?" The leader snorted, and the rest of the group cackled as if it was the funniest thing they'd heard. "What we want is for da white trash biker who thought he could tell me what to do to get out here. We got a lesson to teach him."

From the description, Aaron knew the kid was talking about Bobby. He glanced over his shoulder, looking for the big biker, and the kid made his first mistake. He put his hand on Aaron's shoulder. His second mistake was trying to shove the Outcome agent out of the way. Aaron instinctively elbowed the kid in the gut, doubling him over, and followed the move with a firm punch to the nose. He spun on his heel, bringing a ridge-hand into the kid's solar plexus, knocking him down and out of the fight.

Jason, who had watched from the sidelines, rushed forward to help as the other four defended their leader. Two of them drew guns from the smalls of their backs, and Aaron caught one of the firearms and wrenched the guy's arm around until he heard the bones in his elbow give way. He shouted and let go of the gun. A quick jab to his solar plexus and a punch to his head knocked him out cold. Aaron heard a gunshot go off, though it sounded harmless enough, and knew that Jason had his fight under control. He met the oncoming attacker with ready hands, using the guy's weight to bring him down on his knee and knock the breath out of him. As the guy wheezed, he put the kid in a choke hold and held him until he was unconscious.

Breathing out a sigh of relief as the adrenaline drained out of his system, Aaron glanced over at Jason, who had two guys at his feet. "They alive?"

Jason nodded. "Yeah." He blew out his own breath. "I feel better."

Aaron smirked at the muttered words, understanding what Bourne meant. After so long, the adrenaline built up until agents either went crazy or found outlets for them. "Remind me, and we'll spar a bit later." He looked around, seeing the neighbors peeking out of their homes and already hearing sirens. "Cops'll be here soon."

Jason also surveyed the area. "We've got plenty of witnesses."

Not responding to that, Aaron spun and marched into the house. The members of his crew who couldn't fit out the door behind Jason had crowded the windows, and he found Bobby slinking away from one of them. Grabbing the guy's shirt, he slammed the biker against the wall in full view of the rest of his crew. "What did you _do_?!"

Bobby's eyes widened. He'd already been taken down once by Aaron and hadn't needed the demonstration out front to prove just how lethal his boss could be. "Nothin'!"

Aaron growled, carefully editing what the leader had said. "Those gang members wouldn't have come knocking, looking for a 'white biker' if you hadn't done something. What. Was. It?"

"I. . .I just stuck up for someone. That's it!" Bobby recovered his composure, and Aaron let him stand up straight. "I went out with some buddies of mine on Friday. You know, payday. We were at this place when this group of kids started harassin' the waitress. She's a friend o' mine from way back, so I asked 'em to stop. Politely. When they didn't, me 'n the guys kicked 'em outta the place. That's it! We was just lookin' out for someone else!"

"Kicked 'em out how?"

Bobby shrugged sheepishly, though there was a glint in his eyes. "We mighta roughed up a couple of 'em. But they was messin' with a girl who's like my own."

Aaron nodded, knowing what Bobby did when he "roughed up" someone. "It happens again, Bobby, and you're fired." Without another word, he walked back outside where a patrol cop had just parked his car. Jason stood over the five gangbangers, one of which had already regained consciousness and was nursing a broken nose. Aaron lifted his voice and spoke to his employees. "Okay, show's over. Back to work. I'll call you when you're needed."

The patrol officer gaped at the four unconscious men and the one moaning and making a big deal out of the blood getting on his previously spotless white shirt. He eyed Jason. "You in charge around here?"

Aaron stepped over to him. "I am." He held out his hand. "Aaron Cross. I'm the contractor here," he said with nod toward his truck and its company logo.

The officer shook his hand. "We have reports of gunfire and an altercation in the area. Want to tell me what happened?"

Over the next hour, Aaron told the police, who continued to arrive, what had happened, showed his ID, explained how _the_ Jason Bourne came to work for him, managed his men while the officers took witness statements, and watched smugly as the five who thought they could attack the crew were carted off in handcuffs for possessing unregistered firearms. He saw the respect in their eyes as they looked at him, though, and knew that he'd either started a gang war or had proven that his job sites were not to be touched. In the end, it didn't matter as the police decided that they wouldn't be pressing charges but left Aaron with a warning to keep things quiet. He agreed with a tired nod and, as the final patrol car drove away, told his guys to pack up and head home. He was frustrated, and he had cuts on his fists that stung. It had been months since he'd been in a fistfight, and he had a restless energy that needed to be worked out in private.

After locking up the job site, Aaron drove aimlessly for a bit, knowing Jason could take care of himself. He went out of his way to avoid advertising just how deadly he could be, but he couldn't get away from it. When that first kid had put a hand on his shoulder, he'd just reacted on instinct. The rest of the fight. . . The moves just came back to him, and he knew it would be years—if ever—before they fully faded away.

He wound up at Lake Arlington, wandering the two-mile walking path and letting his thoughts settle. He'd hoped he'd left those things behind when he came to the Chicago area. He hadn't wanted to fight, to struggle for survival at all. Instead, he found himself having to occasionally defend his job sites. He supposed he should have expected it, but it still rankled him.

Finally, after the sun had fully set, Aaron drove home. He found Jason in the partially-finished kitchen, cooking a simple meal and puttering around. The Treadstone asset glanced up when he came in the door. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Aaron didn't really want to talk about it. He accepted his plate with a quiet word of thanks and carried it into the office, where he'd been eating recently due to the general chaos in the rest of the house. Jason followed him and sat down in one of the comfortable chairs that Aaron had left in place when Marta and Nicky showed up with KFC. He eyed Bourne. "You okay?"

"Yeah."

"So, I'm getting tile tomorrow. We should be able to finish up the kitchen by Saturday."

Jason recognized the change of topic. "Think we can hang the cabinets tonight? Even if they're not painted, we can get things put away."

"True." Aaron ate a few bites. "Thanks, by the way. And not just about earlier."

"No problem."

Few words passed between the two men for the rest of the meal. They finished eating and rinsed their plates, turning and starting work on the kitchen. By the time they'd hung the cabinets, both of them were worn out and headed for separate showers. The coming day would result in tile and paint choices, and then they could work on finishing up the kitchen. At least the kitchenware that had been scattered all over the dining room was put away. The dust and cleaning could wait for another day, and Aaron decided that having Marta around to help him make decisions for the rest of the kitchen was just what he needed. He ultimately fell asleep smiling at the idea of watching her agonize over the perfect tile and thought that, in spite of the fights that inevitably arose and the times when his past might intrude, his life couldn't be better.

~TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: **First of all, thank you to everyone who reviewed and was so patient during the recent posting mishap. I have been blessed to lead a fairly healthy life, so any small sickness tends to really knock me out. I'm back on my feet, and have been for most of the week, so there should be fewer delays in posting.

**Laura:** Thank you for the review! It always makes me smile when someone "has to comment." While I don't make anything on these, it's great to hear a story is impacting someone in some way. I do promise we'll hear more about Nicky and Jason, but this story and these characters needed time to develop. Aaron and Jason doing "normal" things was fun to write as well, especially with the mindset each of them have concerning survival.

**Lisa:** I loved your comment on Chandler. I read a book once where a Navy SEAL sniper showed just how dangerous snipers can be. He took the main character out to a field where four of his buddies had had only fifteen minutes to set up. She couldn't find them, and his point was this: If you try to stop a sniper after he's been sent, you fail. The only way to stop a sniper is to stop him _before_ he's sent. I've tried to keep that in mind. And the friendship between Aaron and Jason. . . .That one is developing so naturally. So I'm glad that came across on the page.

**Kare38:** Thank you! When I thought about Aaron and Marta, they just seemed the type to go their separate ways for a while. I'm not the type to have an OTP, but Aaron and Marta are my OTP. (One True Pairing.) They just need to learn how to stand on their own feet after all the events of the movie. Besides, flawed characters are real characters, and we connect with them. If I can't connect with a character, I don't want to read and/or write about him/her. :) So I try to put that in all my stories.

All that said, I hope you enjoy the chapter! ~lg

oOo

_The cuts on his fists stung as Jason sat on the edge of a bed and stared at them. He'd barely made it out alive, his target sending men after him and making Jason wonder if he'd been compromised from the get-go. This mission had been a total failure, and the only saving grace was that he'd managed to take out his target. Conklin wasn't happy with his performance, but Jason could do nothing about it. He'd just come from a shouting match with Treadstone's head, and neither man could say they'd reached an understanding. Jason's cover had been blown, and he'd had to fight his way out._

_Gentle hands reached for him, and he blinked as Nicky knelt in front of him. She had gathered a bowl of warm water, bandages, and cloths to clean the dried blood from his knuckles. Normally, he didn't take so many injuries, but he'd managed to catch one guy with his mouth open. The smell of blood had turned his attackers into sharks. He knew he was sporting one spectacular black eye, and his split lip stung as well._

_Without saying a word, Nicky started bathing his hands in the warm water, and Jason let her. She had a healing touch, and something in the care she showed him touched him on a deeper level than he'd ever known. He reached out with his least injured hand and tucked her hair behind her ear. "Thank you."_

_She smiled up at him but didn't say anything. Jason appreciated that. She knew he didn't need an overabundance of words to make him feel comfortable, and she went out of her way to avoid talking all that much. Though, he did wish at times that she would be more open with him. Treadstone expected him—and all the agents based out of Paris—to spill everything to Nicky. She needed an outlet where she could spill her own doubts and fears._

_As she finished treating his left hand and moved on to his right, Jason sighed. "You shouldn't be here. Conklin will find out."_

_She glanced at him again. "If he does?"_

"_Nicky, you know we're not even supposed to see each other outside of work."_

_She rocked back on her heels. "Jason, I'm here to see to your well-being. At least, as far as Conklin's concerned. I _am_ your psychologist, after all, and a mission turning so bad has got to cause some real issues. I'm just doing my job and making certain you're going to be okay."_

_He smirked. "I like the way you think."_

_She rose just enough to kiss him. "You love the way I think."_

Jason blinked awake, not needing the dream to know what happened next. He clenched his fists under the blankets, feeling the sting of fresh cuts on his right hand as he nearly growled. Why was he having these dreams about Nicky? He shouldn't be. Or should he? Was he remembering or creating? Had he really loved her, as the dreams suggested? Or was it some imagined desire after seeing Aaron and Marta together? The Outcome agent's natural friendliness had been dampened by the program's training, but he still managed to exhibit more openness than Jason could imagine. Was Jason simply wanting that companionship with someone and projecting onto Nicky?

Pushing out of bed, he again pulled on his running shoes and left the house. It was a bit closer to dawn this time, and he'd managed four hours of deep sleep. That would be enough to get him through the coming day.

As usual, running put his thoughts in order, and Jason decided that he wouldn't let Nicky change the subject next time they talked. He needed to know what they were to one another, and he didn't care if she wanted it left alone. He was driving himself crazy with these dreams, and he wanted to know whether they were nothing more than a natural male reaction to an attractive woman or if they were actual memories. Until he could be certain, he doubted he'd get a good night's sleep.

oOo

Marta knew what it felt like to be watched. Aaron had taught her, through a lot of trial and error, not to ignore that suspicion that someone was keeping an eye on her. At first, she'd thought she was just being paranoid, that she was reacting badly to being on the run, and that it would get better. But she'd been wrong. Aaron said she had good instincts, and they had proven right time and time again.

But she'd been in Chicago for nearly eight months. In that time, she had suppressed the feeling that everyone was watching her and the need to avoid security cameras. As months passed, she no longer suspected the guy at the coffee shop that checked her out was part of NRAG or any of the programs that had hunted them. In fact, she had been a bit miffed until Aaron admitted he did the same thing when she walked past. Then, she'd been complimented.

To have the sensation creep along the back of her neck _now_, while she stood in her kitchen making a small dinner, was disconcerting. Marta kept stirring the vegetables, but she glanced around. Her home was secure, Nicky was at work, and nothing seemed out of place. She flipped off the burner on the stove and moved to chop a few more veggies for her chicken as she eyed her windows. Nothing seemed out of place, the setting sun still glinted off the windows of neighboring buildings, and she couldn't see _why_ she'd feel that way. Nevertheless, she made the decision to finish her meal quickly and disappear into her bedroom. She had a book she'd wanted to read for a long time, and her work from the lab could wait until morning.

As she finished cooking, Marta wondered if Nicky ever had this sensation. The Treadstone handler had seen her fair share of people sent to kill her and seemed to have good instincts. But Nicky wasn't there to talk to. She'd taken a part-time job as a barista while she hunted for an apartment of her own and a better paying occupation. From what she told Marta, the CIA had offered to reinstate her psychology licenses and help her open her own practice, but she wasn't certain she wanted to get back into the field. Marta understood. She, too, had hesitated when the CIA set up her current job, and it had been Aaron that convinced her to go back to work.

Aaron had done a lot for her, Marta mused as she carried her plate to her bedroom, where the curtains blocked anyone from seeing into the apartment. She made a mental note to invest in some curtains for the rest of the apartment right away and ate her dinner as she thought about the man she loved. She couldn't call him her "boyfriend" because they'd only had one date and had picked out tile for his house. But she couldn't say they were just dating, either. The uncertainty was both exhilarating and annoying. He'd been adamant that they weren't going to go on just one date and then fall back into their routine. And, for the first time in months, Marta didn't want to return to that mundane existence. There was an excitement about Aaron that she craved, but she hadn't realized she missed it until he'd no longer been in her life.

Picking up her book, she forced herself to focus until she eventually became lost in the story. She was so intrigued with the mystery that, when Nicky knocked on her door, she jumped. "Sorry." She laughed lightly.

Nicky frowned. "Good book?"

"Very," Marta agreed dryly.

Nicky eyed her plate and glass. "Why are you in here?"

Marta met the woman's eyes. "Ever felt like you were being watched?"

Nicky didn't question it. "When?"

"A couple hours ago, before the sun went down." Marta gathered her dishes and carried them into the kitchen. The sensation didn't return. "It's gone now, but I could have sworn. . . ."

"Don't ignore it," Nicky interrupted. She pulled out her phone. "Any idea how long or where?"

"No." Marta stared at her. "Aaron taught me all this, and he told me to be careful the other night. Code words for 'We might be followed.' And I've been careful, but I haven't noticed anything until now."

Nicky's eyes went to the open windows. "That was a week ago? Then I'd suspect it was a too-nosy neighbor. But you might want to get curtains."

Marta nodded. "Yeah." She rinsed her plate and stuck it in the dishwasher, deciding to change the subject. "How was work?"

Nicky rolled her eyes. "Serving coffee, listening to customers, and acting like I don't want to bolt every time someone comes into the door."

"I felt like that when I first started working," Marta replied. "It'll get better."

Nicky agreed with a nod, and the two decided to watch a movie before bed. By the time Marta retired, her thoughts from earlier in the evening had returned. Along with one question. Did she tell Aaron about the feeling of being watched? And, if she did, how would he react?

oOo

Chandler stepped out of the bathroom and wandered back to the window to peer through the binoculars. Shearing's apartment was quiet, the two women in their respective rooms and obviously turning in for the night. He'd kept the video camera recording, intending to go back and see if he could lip-read what they spoke about. But he had his doubts. Shearing and her guest, Nicolette Parsons, were careful women. Both had been on the run for years and, though they'd settled for the first time in a long time, those instincts wouldn't fade.

Marta had known about him, hence why he decided to leave the camera recording and make dinner. He'd seen the way she checked her surroundings and glanced at the windows as if looking for him. He wouldn't be surprised if she suddenly invested in curtains. It would make her appear paranoid, but sometimes that was a good thing. Paranoia would only complicate Chandler's job, though. It meant he'd need to get into the apartment and plant listening devices as well as hidden cameras. He could do that, but he'd need for them to both leave for a length of time. Since Parsons worked at a coffee shop, her schedule varied. As it was, there was only about an hour where the home was ever unoccupied. And he'd need at least three to get everything in and hidden appropriately.

Letting out a deep sigh, he started playing back the recording as Shearing extinguished her light and made up his mind. Next time the women left at the same time for anything other than their jobs, he'd find a way into that apartment. He had to. Otherwise, they might not get the intel they needed. Without that intel, they couldn't make their next move.

oOo

Two weeks after the cookout at Aaron's, Nicky found herself in Marta's kitchen, frowning at the marinara sauce she'd made. It was missing something, but she hadn't truly cooked in so long that she couldn't remember all of the recipe.

She had just dipped the spoon back into it to taste again when the door opened and Marta breezed in. The virologist had planned to sleep in and take the day to relax, but work had called at the worst possible time. She'd made a Sunday trip to the lab to rescue a project and looked as if she needed to strangle someone. Instead, Nicky ambushed her. "Here. Taste this."

Marta blinked but obeyed. "That's good." She thought for a moment. "Tried adding a touch of salt? And maybe some garlic?"

Nicky reached for the salt shaker and dumped some more in there. Then, after tasting it again, she nodded. "That's better."

Marta leaned against the counter, kicking off her shoes as she did so. "What's the occasion?"

"Jason's birthday." When Marta blinked, Nicky continued, "He doesn't remember much before Treadstone started hunting him. Not even his true birthday. And he likes homemade pizza."

"I'm not going to ask how you know that," Marta replied, heading off to her bedroom. "You taking it out to him?"

"I had planned on it." Nicky didn't tell Marta that this was the problematic part of her plan. She and Jason had gone to dinner again on Friday, and he'd mentioned that Aaron wanted to finish the kitchen over the weekend.

Marta reappeared a few moments later, dressed in comfortable jeans and a t-shirt. "I'll go with you. Aaron wanted me to help with the tiling, and a birthday party's better than sitting here and watching movies."

_Solved that problem_, Nicky thought. "Is Aaron's oven working?"

"I think so."

"Good. We'll put the pizzas together there." Nicky started gathering up the canvas totes still holding most of the ingredients. She'd gone to the grocery store that morning and still hadn't unpacked everything. Within ten minutes, the two women had locked the apartment and piled into Nicky's car. She insisted on driving because, if the marinara sauce spilled, she didn't want to ruin Marta's car.

As she drove, she studied the other woman. Marta looked tired, but her expression seemed to lighten the closer they got to Arlington Heights. Nicky knew from personal experience that having the man she loved some distance away was hard. In this instance, only an hour's drive separated Aaron and Marta. But their relationship was back in the "honeymoon" stage since they'd reconnected.

They arrived just as Aaron hefted a large box from his truck. He turned as Nicky parked carefully, his expression a mix between welcome and confusion. Marta hopped out, rushing to quietly explain why they'd showed up while Nicky gathered up the supplies they'd brought. Aaron's face cleared quickly, and he set down the heavy box before rushing over to help Nicky with the marinara sauce.

Inside, the house looked halfway livable again. Dust still coated everything, and the kitchen was missing the sink, paint, and the backsplash. Jason lay on his back under where the sink belonged, tightening some plumbing piece. He craned his neck to see them, and Nicky had the irrational urge to grin like an idiot. Instead, she stepped over his legs, put her supplies on the counter, and then bent to say hello.

Jason blinked. "Hey." He frowned. "Did I forget something?"

Nicky bit down the tongue-in-cheek response that he'd forgotten a lot and simply smiled. "I brought the stuff for pizza."

His eyes lit up. "You making it?"

"Yep." Nicky held out a hand and pulled him to his feet after he wiggled out of the cabinet. She glanced around and realized that Aaron and Marta had stepped back outside. "It's your birthday," she said gently. "I know how much you like homemade pizza."

Jason stared at her for a long moment, his emotions hidden well but still peeking out. He hated mention of the amnesia even if he dealt with it on a regular basis. "Thanks," he said awkwardly.

Nicky smiled and let go of his hand. "I brought stuff for two huge pizzas. You can make one, and Aaron can choose the toppings for the other."

Jason nodded. "We're putting in the sink, but I'll help after that."

Nicky agreed and watched as Aaron carried that big box inside while Marta followed excitedly. All traces of exhaustion had faded from the virologist's face, and Nicky knew she'd made the right call. Not only had Jason needed to remember his real birthday—not the one the CIA gave him when he became Jason Bourne—but Marta had relaxed and decided to enjoy the day.

The next several minutes were spent watching the two men install the farmhouse sink. A spot had been left cut out of the countertops, and it fit perfectly with the colors that Marta and Aaron had chosen. Nicky tipped her head to one side as Aaron quietly gave Jason instructions and the two wrestled the heavy sink in place. She caught the sparkle in Marta's eyes and grinned. So she wasn't the only woman in the house checking out the men.

All too soon, the guys finished and declared their work for the day complete. With water restored and everything in the kitchen finally in working order, Jason dashed upstairs to clean up, and Aaron disappeared. Nicky suspected he'd done the same thing, but she couldn't be certain until he reappeared in clean clothes, his hair still spiking a bit in the front. In the meantime, she pulled out bell peppers, onions, fresh mushrooms, tomatoes, black olives, pepperoni, Italian sausage, Parmesan cheese, and mozzarella cheese. She liked using fresh ingredients in her pizza, so the cheese needed grating. With the sauce again simmering on the back burner, she began putting together the dough and teaching Marta her secret for perfect pizza crust. After setting the dough to rise, she began cutting up the vegetables and preparing the cheese. Marta crumbled the Italian sausage in a pan and began browning it.

The kitchen really made a huge impact on the house. When Nicky had first arrived, it had seemed outdated and somewhat out of step with the rest of the work Aaron had done. Having the ancient wallpaper removed, new cabinets installed, and that wonderful sink made things so much easier. She had just finished slicing the bell peppers and had moved on to the onions when Jason startled her. He'd come downstairs and into the kitchen so silently she hadn't heard him. He reached across her to swipe a pinch of cheese that she'd shredded, and his closeness stilled her hands.

He smelled incredible. Whether it was his soap or aftershave or actual cologne, she caught a whiff of it and blinked. Memories of their time in Paris came back, particularly one night after a mission gone badly, and she had to push away the hurt that it stirred. Jason didn't remember it. He couldn't know what his nearness did to her or how she couldn't forget him no matter how she tried.

Laughter nearby distracted her, and she turned as Aaron and Marta shared some private joke. Jason leaned against the counter nearby. "This could get awkward," he said quietly.

Nicky snorted, thinking that things had already become awkward. "You have no idea."

They managed to get the pizzas into the oven without incident. Aaron and Marta occasionally slipped into their own worlds, but they were the perfect hosts. Marta seemed completely at home in the house, and it showed just how deep their relationship really was. Nicky sat at the table and munched on leftover veggies while she watched Aaron tease Marta about not knowing how to tile. Jason sat with her, and she turned to face him. He had a serious expression on his face, though his gaze stayed on Marta and Aaron. After a few moments, he spoke. "I'm thinking of asking if I can rent his guest house."

Nicky blinked. "There's a guest house?"

"Yeah." Jason stood and motioned for her to follow him. She trailed behind as he took her outside and around, showing her the house and explaining his ideas. She liked his thoughts for the guest house, though she couldn't help smiling at the irony. He might not remember everything about their relationship, but he'd managed to mentally redesign the guest house into the flat they'd shared in Paris. She took it as a sign that his memory might return. And that scared her. If he remembered and didn't want a relationship with her. . . .She pushed away that thought as they went back to the main house.

Conversation was comfortable as the four ate dinner. Nicky watched Aaron and Marta hold hands. They were very comfortable with showing affection openly, and it highlighted the differences between Aaron and Jason. Part of her mind—the psychologist—wondered how Aaron had retained his natural propensity for affection when it had been drilled out of Jason. Finally, she couldn't stand it anymore and asked, "How'd you two meet?"

The look that passed between them was laden with questions, meaning, and an unspoken conversation. Finally, Aaron met her eyes. "Outcome," he said softly. "She was my doctor."

Nicky saw Jason's quick glance out of the corner of her eye and wondered what it meant. Instead, she ignored it as Marta took up the story. Nicky listened as the pair switched off in telling how Aaron had saved Marta from a kill squad sent to her home and kept her safe while Marta helped Aaron viral off his medications. Why Aaron needed to viral off of the chems rather than returning to his pre-Outcome condition was another conversation for another day. Nicky kept things light, choosing to focus on the good times Aaron and Marta talked about. Their journey as a couple had been no less dangerous than Nicky's own, and she didn't want to dampen the mood of the day.

Finally, after dinner was eaten and the kitchen cleaned, Jason appeared at her side. "Got a few minutes to take a walk?"

"Sure." Nicky held back the frisson of concern that skittered down her spine and followed him out the door. For the first block, they walked in silence, enjoying the early summer evening and smiling at the laughter of children playing at a park several blocks away. Every now and then, a car passed, but the street was quiet and idyllic. But something wasn't right. Jason's request was more than a casual invitation to walk off dinner, and she couldn't help waiting for the other shoe to drop. Had he remembered something? Or was she going to have to pry it out of him?

He decided to drop that shoe. "What were we?"

Nicky froze. "What do you mean?"

"Before." He faced her, frustration warring with sincere confusion in his eyes. "Before I lost my memory and left. What were we."

"Jason, I asked you. . . ."

"I _need_ to know," he interrupted.

Nicky's stomach turned, and she suddenly regretted eating that last piece of pizza. "It's not important," she said quickly. Hopefully, he'd let it go at that. "Not really." She turned to walk back to Aaron and Marta's, but he reached out and stopped her with a quick hand on her arm.

"It's important to me."

His quiet words caused her stomach to knot up, making the queasy feeling from moments ago even worse. "Jason. . . ." She could hear the pleading in her voice and hated it.

He lowered his voice, his tone tight with frustration. "Just answer the question!"

Nicky stared at him for a long moment, wondering where this demand came from. The last time they'd talked about "them," she'd asked him to leave it alone, and he'd been more than happy to do just that. What had changed? Or, rather, what was he trying to change? He wouldn't back down, not like this, and she didn't have the strength to really keep fighting. Instead, she grabbed the front of his shirt, pulled him to her, and kissed him hard.

oOo

Jason was unprepared for Nicky's kiss, and he instinctively stiffened before giving in. His arms went around her waist, and he returned the favor before she could pull away. He knew this wasn't the kind of kiss shared between lovers. There was too much anger and hurt and passion for that, but it all seemed familiar to him. Like his dreams, which made him that much more intense.

Nicky finally pulled back, tears in her eyes as she clenched her fists in his shirt front. "That's what we were!" she said, a bit breathless. "Happy now?"

Before Jason could stop her, she slipped out of his arms and stormed away, her hair bouncing on her shoulders as she headed back to Aaron's home. Her entire demeanor told him not to follow her even though he wanted nothing more than to drag her back to his side and explain why he'd asked. Before he could give in to that instinct, a sharp pain went through his head, and he squeezed his eyes shut. It didn't let up, and he staggered.

"Hey, buddy, you okay?" The friendly male voice startled Jason, and he blinked at one of Aaron's neighbors. The man had two boys, ages five and seven nearby, and looked military.

"Yeah." Jason tried to brush off the pain, but it only intensified. He had felt these headaches before, usually at night and never in public.

The guy next to him turned to the kids. "Go on home. Tell your mom I'll be there soon."

The oldest nodded, his expression doubtful. "Okay."

The man put his hand on Jason's shoulder. "Here. Sit down for a minute."

Jason complied while studying the guy. Standing about Jason's height, he was stocky with dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes. The evening sun caught on the chain around his neck, and Jason nodded at it in an attempt to distract himself. "You military?"

"Yeah." The guy stuck out his hand. "Air Force. Name's Evan."

Jason shook his hand. "Jason. Army." He blinked through the headache as he gave just his first name, knowing he didn't need the hassle of this guy reacting to his current identity. "Do I know you?"

Evan shook his head. "Don't think so. I'm stationed overseas and barely got back yesterday. My wife and kids settled here while I was gone." He eyed Jason. "Seriously. You okay?"

"Yeah." Jason pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead, thankful the pain was starting to fade. "Just. . .old memories."

Evan nodded knowingly, but Jason knew the man saw through the cover. It was all he had. As he'd sat there, he'd remembered little things. Nicky's hair tickling his nose in the morning. The way she smiled when he stared at her. How she'd looked the first time they'd gone to dinner in Paris. The frustration on her face every time Conklin sent him on back-to-back missions. It helped his dreams—_no_, he corrected himself,_ flashbacks—_make sense, but it also created some pretty conflicted emotions. He'd loved Marie, but he'd also loved Nicky. And being around her was helping him remember that.

Finally, he pushed himself to his feet. "Thanks for stopping."

Evan met his eyes. "Look, you need anyone to talk to, let me know." He nodded toward a stately home. "I'm staying there until the military decides where to send me."

Jason agreed with a nod and headed back for Aaron's house, not sure if he'd take the guy up on the offer. He appreciated Evan for stopping, but he wished this little revelation had waited until he was back at home.

Why had he pushed Nicky now? Because he wanted answers, and seeing Aaron and Marta flirting with each other made him wonder if he and Nicky had once been like that. He'd needed to understand these dreams he'd been having, but he'd gone about it the wrong way.

Knowing he'd have to make it up to Nicky somehow, he blinked away the residual headache and finished his walk in silence.

oOo

Marta realized things had not gone well when Nicky reappeared without Jason. The other woman's face was red, and she slammed directly into the bathroom behind Aaron's office. Rather than following her, she allowed Aaron to continue teaching her how to tile. They'd accomplished a bit of work, though not as much as Marta had wanted. But it was too much fun to flirt with Aaron and see his face light up as he laughed and teased back.

The evening ended a short time later when, after he returned, Jason admitted he had a huge headache. The frustration and hurt on Nicky's face faded, and she seemed to accept that he needed some quiet and a cool cloth to help. Marta regretfully left Aaron with the job of tiling the backsplash and gathered up the remains of their cooking. She followed Nicky out the door and, once in the car, couldn't keep her questions to herself. "What happened?"

Nicky shook her head. "Jason," she said simply. "I asked him to leave something alone, and he didn't."

Marta didn't question her further. Nicky put off an intense "don't go there" vibe that Marta refused to ignore. Instead, she looked out the window and smiled. "Thanks," she said. "For the idea to come out."

Nicky's anger softened as they left the neighborhood behind. "You're welcome."

No other conversation passed between the two women as they drove back to Chicago. Marta kept her mind focused on how good the evening had been for her, and she found herself imagining dinners cooked in that kitchen with candlelight coming from the dining room. Her dreams of settling with Aaron were slowly being revived, and she was surprised to realize that she really could see herself in that house.

Back in Chicago, she unlocked her apartment door and slipped inside with several empty canvas sacks draped over her arm. Nicky carried the big pot she'd used for the marinara sauce. The two women had barely cleared the door when the fear slammed into Marta. She stiffened, her eyes going around the entire house. She couldn't explain how she knew, but she did.

Someone had been in her house. And they'd left something behind.

~TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:** Once again, so very glad everyone is enjoying the story!

**Lisa:** So very glad you're enjoying the story! This portion of it was a tough one to write because it's essentially a transition. And that's all I'll say about it so I don't give anything away.

oOo

Jason sat back in the couch with a sigh as the door closed behind Nicky and Marta. He'd come straight here, thanking Nicky softly for the rag she brought him. He dabbed it on his forehead now, sighing with relief as it helped ease part of the pain. Aaron finished putting up the last of the tile as he recovered, thankfully quiet save for the unavoidable sounds his work produced. Ironically, they didn't bother Jason as much as they would have any other time.

Finally, after the sun set, Aaron wandered into the living room and perched on the edge of a chair while wiping his hands with a dirty towel. He still had grout in the crevices of his fingernails, but a shower would get that out. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Jason sat up, bracing his elbows on his knees. "Treadstone did this. Part of the conditioning causes severe headaches, particularly at night."

Aaron nodded once. "After viraling off blues—the cognitive chems—I had that problem. Because my hearing and senses were permanently enhanced, I could hear _so_ much better. If I'm too close to a phone when it rings, it still bugs me. Soprano singers, kids voices in an enclosed area, that sort of thing. I handle low tones better than high." He paused for a long moment. "So, what happened?"

Jason raised an eyebrow. "With what?"

"Nicky." Cross sat on the chair, his gaze direct and telling the other man he wasn't backing down. "Hey, look, I'll be the first to say relationships aren't my specialty. But _something_ happened that shook her up, and that could be a problem if she decides to bolt."

Jason narrowed his eyes. "It bothers you that she might?"

"Shouldn't it?" Aaron shrugged. "You two might not be into settling down, and that's okay. If it's a choice you and she make. If she's running only because of something you did, though, then I have a real problem."

Jason stared at the other man. Cross had a mission, and he wasn't backing down. It made him wonder what the guy would be like if things went sideways, but he didn't have the heart to push him away. "I screwed up. Pushed her to tell me something I didn't remember."

"Regret it?"

"Yeah."

Cross chuckled at that. "Give her time. Nicky's a good woman. She'll come around."

_I hope so_. Jason didn't voice the thought, choosing instead to turn the tables around. "So, Marta."

"What about her?"

"You two looked pretty happy in there." Jason glanced at the kitchen, with it's half-finished backsplash, and decided now was the best time to mention his ideas. "Things keep going, you'll want your space."

This time, Aaron narrowed his eyes. "Are we really having this conversation?"

Jason laughed at the irony. Women were known for discussing their relationships. Not men. But living in the same house as Aaron could get very awkward, and Jason wanted his options open. "Yeah, we are. Because, if things keep going between the two of you, I _don't_ want to be around."

"There's her apartment," Aaron replied with a shrug.

"And if she's here?" Jason met Aaron's eyes. "Why don't I move into the guest house? It's livable, and I can fix it up on the weekends. You've taught me enough to get the plumbing and everything back in place."

Aaron stared at him, his eyes assessing everything about the request. Jason waited. Finally, Aaron nodded. "Okay. Get your ideas together and let me know what you need. I'll pick them up next time I go on a run for the job."

The two men went their separate ways after that, both tired but for different reasons. Both of them had put in a decent amount of work during the day, and Jason's headache had drained him. As had the realization that his dreams were flashbacks. He'd suspected, but _knowing_ was completely different. It meant Nicky had once been intimately familiar with his life. At this point, she likely knew him better than he knew himself.

He had just reached the top of the stairs when a text came to his phone. Pulling it from his pocket, he blinked wearily at the screen. _Just got home,_ it said. _Someone's been here._

Jason's headache suddenly took a backseat. He whirled on his heel. "Cross!"

Aaron appeared from the kitchen. "Yeah?"

"Let's go." Jason tossed his keys at the other man. "Someone's been in Marta's house while they were here."

Aaron caught the keys and headed out the door, grabbing a weapon and wireless frequency detector on his way. He slipped behind the wheel of Jason's car and backed out of the driveway. The hour-long drive to Marta's apartment took less than thirty minutes as he broke every traffic law on the books. Thankfully, there wasn't a decent cop around in that time, and Jason gratefully closed his eyes as the other man drove. Aaron knew what he was doing, and it saved him from making the headache worse.

Someone had been in Marta's apartment. Had they left anything behind? Bugs? Cameras? Programs on the computer? And why? Was it related to Treadstone or Outcome? Or was this something less sinister and more "normal?" He doubted it, and he knew Cross had already come to the same conclusion. Sighing as they pulled into the parking garage, Jason knew he'd handle this the way he'd always done: as Jason Bourne. And God help the poor sucker that tried to stand in his way.

oOo

Marta couldn't say what set her off. She had thoroughly enjoyed the day even if Nicky's ended badly. And spending the time with Aaron only cemented her decision to renew their relationship. That house was beautiful, Aaron was amazing, and she loved him as deeply now as she had when they'd been in Sydney. Or Johannesburg or Switzerland or any of the myriad places they'd traveled. Their situation in life might have changed, but her feelings hadn't. She just needed to learn how to trust him and let him lead in their relationship, knowing that he had only the best in mind for her.

Then, she walked through her door, and everything changed. Nicky picked up on the same thing and pulled out her phone, sending off a text. Marta knew she'd contacted Jason and found herself grateful she didn't need to deal with this alone. Instead of commenting, she met Nicky's eyes very pointedly and said, "So, I think that went well."

Nicky nodded as they carried everything into the kitchen. "Yeah. Jason loved the pizza."

"So did Aaron." Marta had closed the curtains before she left, and she moved around the kitchen, running her fingers under the edges of the counters and upper cabinets. They encountered a tiny device that hadn't been there before, and she held it up to show Nicky as Nicky found her own tucked behind the little-used toaster. "I think the kitchen's going to be beautiful when we're done."

Nicky grinned as she continued her own search, clanging pots as she put the one she'd used back in the cabinet. "You picked out great tile."

"I like it. Very French country." Marta cringed at the sharp glance that Nicky gave her but found another listening device instead, this one in a lampshade in the living room. She had forgotten that Nicky spent time in France, one of the few countries she and Aaron had _not_ visited, and the other woman's reaction said that time wasn't the thing she wanted to think about.

Instead, Nicky pulled out her phone and sent a quick text to Marta's. The guys were on the way, and they just needed to keep up the mundane conversation for a while longer. So, she continued discussing her ideas on the kitchen, whether Jason would rent the guest house, and anything that came to mind while wondering if the person listening knew they'd been discovered. The conversation felt stilted at best, and she knew she'd never be that great of an actress. Aaron was the spy, not her.

Jason texted when they arrived, and Nicky opened the door to let the two guys into the house. Aaron held up a finger to silence her, eyeing the pile of electronics already on the counter. She and Nicky continued their discussion, drawing a few smirks from Aaron and concerned glances from Jason, as Aaron moved around the house with a wireless frequency detector. He found cameras tucked in the ducts, and Jason carefully climbed on a chair to remove them. By the time they finished, they'd added quite a few more devices to the pile, and Marta realized her entire life would have been on camera if not for that initial instinct.

The meltdown started slowly, but Aaron knew her well enough to realize what was happening. He made hand motions to Jason that she didn't really understand and dragged Marta toward her bedroom. Once there, he turned on the TV, pulled Marta into the bathroom and started both the sink and shower. "Breathe," he said softly.

Marta did as she asked. "Sorry. It's just. . . ." She shook her head. "It's happening again."

"They're not going to kill you." Aaron's voice had lowered, and she knew she'd just seen Outcome 5 come out of hiding. He put his hands on his shoulders and forced her to look at him. "You hear me? They're not going to hurt you."

"You can't promise that!"

"Maybe not, but I can try to keep you safe."

She reached up and wrapped her hands around his wrists. "Aaron, what if. . . ."

"Shh." He pulled her into a hug, and Marta let herself be comforted. Since they'd renewed their relationship, she and Aaron had shied away from most physical contact. They held hands, and he tended to touch her shoulder, back, or hair as they talked. But that was just Aaron. Most people who were developmentally challenged were touchy-feely, and Aaron's core nature hadn't changed in spite of Outcome's best efforts. That had made him a free thinker, someone who didn't care about rules as much as the others. It also meant he managed to stay alive.

After a moment, Marta pulled back a little. "What now?"

"You and Nicky come out to the house." He met her eyes. "Call in sick tomorrow. We'll spend the day going over some new security measures, and I'll get Jason to put a security system in here."

Marta nodded, not wanting to make any other decision. She saw Aaron smile slightly at her acceptance and knew she'd done the right thing for _him_. As much as she needed him here to keep her together right now, he needed to rescue her. Going into her bedroom, she pulled out a bag and started packing for several days. Aaron left to give her space, and she sighed deeply.

It was happening again. Her hands shook as she tried not to completely fall apart. She couldn't do this again! Not now, not when everything was falling into place for the first time in her life! She had a wonderful man she loved, a job that had suddenly become not as important, a house, and a life. It couldn't come apart now! Not when she had it all.

But it was. _They_ had found her again, though she couldn't be certain who. She finished packing and moved into the living space. Jason and Nicky were arguing quietly, neither of them giving any ground while Aaron tried to act like he didn't hear them. Marta set her bag beside the door and stared at the mess in her sink where the guys had destroyed the electronic devices. Aaron assured her that it was safe to speak now, but it didn't mean she had to like the situation.

Nicky stormed into her room, and Jason rubbed his head as if in pain. Aaron watched the other man, eyes narrowed, while Marta waited. A few minutes later, Nicky reappeared with a bag over her shoulder and glare firmly in place. Nothing more was said between the two as the group left the apartment.

The trip back to Aaron's house was tense for everyone. Nicky and Marta crowded into the back of Jason's car, and Jason kept his eyes closed the entire time Aaron drove. Aaron's face was stone, showing no emotion as he took a very roundabout way back to Arlington Heights. When they finally pulled into the driveway, the one-hour drive had turned into nearly three, and Aaron apologized for his paranoia. He carried Marta's things inside as Nicky pointedly snatched her bag from Jason. Marta watched it all with a detached feeling.

Finally, upstairs and behind closed doors in the spare room of Aaron's home, she frowned at him. "What happened with those two?"

"I don't know." Aaron shook his head. "But I'm ready to lock them in a room, and it's only been a few hours."

Marta walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Thank you for coming."

"Always." He held her for a long time, neither of them needing more than the feel of his arms around her to find comfort. He didn't say anything else when he slipped out of her room for the night, and Marta tried to relax into the bed while ignoring the reality that she was, once again, running for her life.

oOo

Nicky rolled over and punched the pillow for the fifth time in an hour. She'd been lying in this bed, ignoring the scent from the pillows and the very real presence in the room even if Jason had chosen to sleep on the couch downstairs. She loved that smell, but it kept her awake tonight. It surrounded her completely, reminding her of nights she'd held a pillow close while he'd been away on a mission.

She was throwing a fit, and she knew it. Flopping onto her back, Nicky stared at the ceiling as the tears and frustration she'd tried to keep at bay finally came to the surface.

Kissing Jason had been a mistake. It had done more than make her point. It had resulted in a pretty severe flashback if the headache he had was any indication. When he'd returned home, he'd been pale and hurting. And it was all her fault. If she'd just answered his question instead of making a big deal out of them, they might have avoided all of this in the first place.

Why had she kissed him? Was it because she was angry? Or because she'd wanted to do that since he showed up in Seattle? Jason wasn't just an old flame. He was the man she'd loved—still loved—with everything in her. She had thought she could get over him and move on, but the last six years had proven her wrong. Falling in love with him had been wonderful and scary and everything she'd wanted then. After he lost his memory and fell for Marie, she'd tried so hard just to put the past behind her. But it wasn't like he was gone forever. Jason was still there, even if he didn't remember the events of his life.

Now they were in this situation. Nicky sat up and stood to pace the room. It was nice, something she could see Marta putting together. But Jason's unique touch had been put on it. His boots were in the corner, a jacket tossed over the back of a chair, and little hints that he lived here. He'd started reading _The Art of War_ again, one of his favorite books for some reason. It sat on his bedside table, marked with a cheap paper marker that he'd picked up somewhere. But the presence was different. She hadn't gone looking for weapons, not needing to know where they were this time. They were different people than they'd been in Paris, and that life was gone. She just needed to accept it.

That didn't help her sleep any better that night. Instead, she wound up curled in a chair by the fireplace, dozing intermittently as she longingly eyed the bed and remembered having Jason's comforting presence beside her. At dawn, when she heard someone softly head downstairs, she figured she could at least take a shower and make herself presentable. She took her time with her appearance today and mentally prepared herself for another long day of pretending Jason's amnesia didn't hurt as badly as it did.

When she finally appeared, she caught Jason pouring a cup of coffee while Aaron made breakfast. Pancakes, sausage, and eggs. Jason looked like he ate this way all the time, but Nicky preferred something lighter. She didn't complain and, by the time Marta arrived, had managed to polish off a cup of coffee.

The men had obviously stayed up and talked about the situation the night before. Nicky knew it would happen, but it still irritated her. Nonetheless, she painted a blasé expression on her face when Jason turned to her. "You up to doing a new security system on the apartment?"

Nicky nodded. "Sure."

It was the most Jason got out of her that morning. The former ease between the four friends was awkward until Jason loaded her into his car and drove back to Chicago. The tension stayed as they arrived at the apartment with the supplies they'd picked up at an electronics store on the way. Jason dropped everything on the counter and glared at her. "You done yet?"

Nicky blinked. "Done being upset? No. I asked you to leave it alone."

"And I couldn't." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I could have picked a better time, but I needed to know."

"Why?"

His face actually changed, showed a distinct discomfort. "I just did."

"You made me answer."

He glared. "I've been having dreams, okay? Dreams about _you_ that didn't feel like dreams. It felt like I was remembering."

_That_ startled Nicky. "W—what?"

He snorted and began moving around the apartment, his eyes assessing the best places for the wiring and RF jammers. Part of the security system was designed to prevent surveillance of any kind, whether from inside the apartment or otherwise. "After going to dinner that first time, I started dreaming about you. About _us_. In Paris."

Nicky followed him. "You mean you remembered?"

"Not everything." He paused near the windows. "And I couldn't be sure it wasn't just. . .dreams." He cleared his throat awkwardly. "I needed to know."

"Jason. . . ." Nicky's voice trailed off when he turned to stare at her. The intensity in his eyes surprised her, and she felt her own gaze answering the unspoken call. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. I thought. . . ." She looked around. "You had Marie, and now she's gone."

"That was three years ago."

"Yeah, but I know from personal experience that things don't always heal in three years. Or five."

His eyes narrowed. He moved to stand less than a foot away. "Maybe it doesn't. And maybe it's not what we had. But we can still be friends."

"No, we can't." She shook her head. "_I_ can't. Not like this."

"Then how?"

"Friends isn't an option, Jason." She refused to look away. "I still care too deeply, and I need to either break ties or find a way to make it work. I can't live in the middle anymore. Not here. Not now."

He accepted that with a nod and moved away to continue working. And Nicky's heart broke a little more. He wasn't _her_ Jason. Not anymore.

oOo

Jason saw the change in Nicky and wished he could do something about it. But short of pretending, he couldn't change how things had gone in his life. He had lost his memory and, in doing so, became a different man than the one she'd known and obviously loved.

Maybe it was time for him to move on. Maybe he needed to let her have her space to define who Nicky Parsons was without Treadstone or Jason Bourne or any other influence from that past. Ironically, he didn't have to necessarily move to do that. He could easily cut ties in spite of how much it would actually bother him.

That thought frustrated him more than a little as he started installing the security system Aaron wanted in Marta's apartment. He'd cut ties with people so many times, both willingly and unwillingly. The strongest moment that stood out in his mind was under that river in Goa, when Marie had died. It had been so sudden, talking to him one minute and dead the next. In an instant, his entire life changed. He ran and never had more than that one kiss under the water to call his goodbye.

And he'd clung to her memory. He still carried her picture in his pocket even though it had been three years. Lately, he'd found himself lonely, but he thought that was just the life he lived. He thought he'd been imagining Nicky in that place because, frankly, he had needs. But the hurt on her face just now told him a much different story. She wasn't just another woman out there. She was a part of his past, something he couldn't change and something he couldn't remember.

Stifling a sigh, Jason focused on his work and put those thoughts from his mind. He'd take them out and examine them later tonight, when he tried to sleep on the couch while Nicky paced upstairs. Perhaps, by morning, he'd be able to talk with her and work out their issues. Otherwise, he saw no other recourse but to let her live her life and get on with his.

oOo

Chandler knew in an instant that something was wrong. The night before, he'd taken the time to go out to dinner after installing the surveillance equipment in Shearing's house. He'd known she would eventually find the bugs, but he had hoped it would take her a few days. When he came home from dinner, he found several hours of. . .nothing. Some conversation about the trip the women made to Cross's house, but nothing else. Not even a snore. That meant one of two things: either his equipment had been discovered, or it had malfunctioned. Since he'd designed most of it, he doubted it had malfunctioned.

Now, someone other than Marta Shearing moved around her apartment. He couldn't see through the windows, but infrared showed two bodies in the house, moving and interacting occasionally. He knew his bugs were gone, likely disabled the previous evening. He so rarely underestimated someone that to do it now, when his targets were two civilian women, really irritated him. Peering through his rifle scope and trying to see through the minute cracks in Shearing's curtains, he swore he wouldn't do that again. Vendel wouldn't accept it, and Byer _definitely_ wouldn't let him get away with such a drastic failure.

A quick glance at his watch told him that Vendel's plans should be under way. Today's Senate hearing had been scheduled for later this afternoon, and it offered Vendel the perfect opportunity to act. For an analyst, the man had some wicked tactics. He'd kept NRAG alive even when the government thought they'd destroyed it, rebuilding from the ground up and using assets that no one knew about. Chandler had been one of those assets.

The form of a person flashed past one of the cracks in Shearing's curtains, and Chandler yanked his attention back to the matter at hand. The two heat signatures in the apartment were walking back and forth, obviously working on something important. Then, one of them stopped right in front of the opening of the curtains, and Chandler nearly dropped his rifle.

When had _Jason Bourne_ come to Chicago?

oOo

The motorcade wound through Washington DC with a police escort and plenty of guards. Not that their prisoner made an effort to escape. He sat in the back of the van, slight sneer on his face as he waited for his arrival at the Senate hearings. All this pomp and circumstance meant he had to put on a suit, something that he actually missed, and he wished he could move to loosen his tie a bit. But every movement sent his guards jumping for weapons, and he decided he could choke a little while longer.

Tires squealed, and a curse came across the radio. Definitely not professional, but who was when they'd been deliberately broadsided and pushed off the road? The prisoner allowed the sneer to grow into a satisfied grin. So, his plan had worked.

The transport carrying him swerved, gunshots peppered the side, and the prisoner threw himself to the ground. There had always been the possibility this could happen, so he'd made contingency plans and put them in the hands of someone he trusted—someone so unlikely they'd be able to go to ground and not realize it. He often wondered if Vendel even knew he was Outcome with a touch of Treadstone bred into him. Bourne, Cross and Vendel were the only three left, though no one realized Vendel even existed. His version of Treadstone was a bit different from Bourne's. He'd not been bred for killing but for logistics. And there had been some modifications made to the brainwashing process to keep inconsistencies at a minimum. For the most part, it worked. And he supposed that was because _Vendel_ wanted it to work. Just like Cross, Vendel had not been the man he was today. He'd been recreated, and he owed his life to the man currently lying on the floor of the van.

The attack happened quickly, though there was an inordinate amount of shouting, gunfire, and panic. The guards did their best, but their attackers had superior weapons and position. Before long, everything fell silent. The back door of the van opened, a silhouetted form rushing in and unchaining the prisoner. He stood to his feet, taking a moment to adjust his tie and prepare to make his entrance back into the world.

Once everything was in place, Ric Byer stepped out of the van and into freedom.

~TBC


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: **So sorry for the late update! It's still Friday where I'm at, though!

**Lisa:** Nicky and Marta will get their chance to be strong. But, right now, Marta needed Aaron around. :) So glad you're enjoying the story!

Hope everyone enjoys the chapter! ~lg

oOo

Marta spent three days at Aaron's. The first morning, she slept until ten, amazed at how tired she felt. Though it shouldn't have surprised her. Here, she had Aaron to watch her back and keep her safe.

When she did make her way downstairs, she found him in his office, going over business accounts and talking on the phone with someone named Manuel. Most of his conversation revolved around what he needed to have accomplished in the next week. He glanced up and saw her, waving her into the room with a smile. Instead, she paused at the door, watching with an answering smile playing around her lips and finding herself inordinately proud of him. He sounded just like a business owner should: authoritative and knowledgeable.

After ending the call, he stood and headed for her. "Good morning."

Marta rolled her eyes and nodded toward the desk. "Sorry to keep you from work."

He put his hands on her shoulders, staring intently at her. "You're more important," he said softly.

She nodded and refused to argue. Instead, she let him pull her into a hug and sighed as she laid her head on his shoulder. "I feel silly," she confessed. "It's not like anyone was attacking me."

"No, they were just watching you from somewhere." His dry tone was almost as dangerous as it had been the first time they ever argued. In that moment, Marta had no doubt that he'd track down the person watching her and either kill or incapacitate him or her. Thankfully, Aaron didn't give her a chance to dwell too long on what her science had done to him. "How are you with your self-defense? Still keeping up what I taught you?"

She lifted her head, her train of thought officially derailed as she realized just how lax she'd been in her exercise. Her expression was apparently answer enough because he nodded. "Eat," he said as he nudged her toward the kitchen. "We'll work on it later."

Two hours later, Marta found herself in Aaron's back yard, going through training that she'd neglected for months. She had gotten lazy, keeping up on her exercise but letting the self-defense go to waste. All their time on the run, and she had forgotten Aaron's primary lesson: Be ready for anything. Now, she realized just how slow her reactions were and what she'd done. Aaron didn't chastise her, though. He just patiently kept at her until she was ready to collapse. Then, he offered her a bottle of water and said he would make dinner. As if it were all in a day's work. Given his former life and what had kept them alive, it shouldn't have surprised her.

Jason and Nicky returned shortly after Marta finished showering from her workout with Aaron. Their expressions startled her. Nicky looked heartbroken, and Jason had closed down more than normal. Marta watched them slam into separate areas of the house and sent a questioning look to Aaron. He shrugged back, just as flummoxed as she was and shaking his head with an exasperated expression.

Dinner was a tense affair with Nicky going upstairs afterward and Jason asking to speak with Aaron. That left Marta at loose ends, and she slipped onto the back porch to think.

Her work had, yet again, driven her from her home. This time, she knew what it meant and what she might face. Which made it worse. Before, she just had Aaron pushing her to keep moving, to not look back, and to survive. She didn't know the depths their enemy would go to get what he wanted. She hadn't understood that leaving was taking her life into her own hands and throwing it in the face of her enemy.

Now, she did. She'd had nearly nine wonderful months of living in freedom she hadn't realized she'd possessed until it was taken from her last time. But she'd started taking that for granted. She still kept an eye on her surroundings, but she'd never thought she would be put back in this situation.

Jason slipped out of the house and to the guest house, interrupting Marta's thoughts. He glanced her way but didn't say anything. Aaron followed, walking to where Marta had dragged one of the chaise lounges under the back porch. She'd hugged her knees into her chest, leaving plenty of room for him to settle. He looked a bit more annoyed than before. She straightened. "What's going on?"

Aaron shook his head, rolling his eyes. "The two of them had a falling out of some sort. Jason said he's remembering things but she's refusing to explain them."

"Still want to lock them in a room together?"

Aaron raised an eyebrow at her. "Until they either kill each other or. . .? Yes."

Marta found it in herself to laugh at that. The amusement faded quickly, however, prompting Aaron to face her. She saw the questions on his face and sighed. "Just thinking about what this means."

Aaron reached out and took her hand. "You'll get through this." He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. "I promise."

Marta smiled at that and drew as much comfort as she could from the contact. She wished she could let him wrap her in his arms all night while she slept, but that was dangerous territory. She and Aaron had crossed those lines while on that fishing barge after Manila, and she had often wondered what their relationship would have been like if they'd waited a little while. Now that they were rebuilding what they had, she didn't want to fall into bed with him until she knew for a fact that this was a life-long thing. She wasn't certain what would indicate it, whether it was him proposing or some other event, but she hadn't had the indication yet.

Aaron stood and tugged on her hand. "Come on. You need sleep."

Marta allowed him to escort her upstairs, hugging him again when she said goodnight. She entered her room, seeing him standing in the hallway and smiling at her while she closed her door. The memory of that smile helped her relax, and she lay in bed until she finally fell asleep sometime after midnight. She _could_ get through this, as long as Aaron stayed at her side. Without him, she knew she'd fall apart. She never wanted to know what that felt like.

oOo

Two days at Aaron's were almost more than Nicky could take. She appreciated the place to stay while she and Jason got Marta's apartment "bug-proofed," but the tension worked on her until she wanted to scream. When at Marta's, Jason was aloof and demanding, not speaking except to ask for a tool or her opinion on the tech. When at Aaron's, he retreated to that guest house and spent every spare minute there. She just wished he'd _talk _to her. Then she shook her head. Talking wasn't exactly Jason Bourne's strong suit.

And then there was Marta and Aaron. Nicky wasn't really annoyed with them so much as she just wanted the two of them to admit they were head-over-heels and get on with life. The in-limbo was frustrating when she wasn't the one experiencing it. Marta was running scared, as well, and Aaron did his best to be supportive and push her into survival mode, something Nicky actually did appreciate. It made her job—watching Marta's back and keeping an eye on the tech—a bit easier.

Finally, she needed to figure herself out. For the first time in years, she found herself in conflict that had nothing to do with her work. This was personal, and she hated it. Every time she looked at Jason, her heart did a little flip, but her emotions took off in a wildly different direction. She just wanted to cry, especially when he blinked at her for snapping at him. It pushed her away from everyone she called a friend in Chicago and kept her in the room that even _smelled_ like him. She knew he was trying to give her space, and she appreciated it. But she wished he'd just treat her like he had.

And that was the problem. Nicky didn't want Jason to treat her as he had since he lost his memory. She wanted what they had _before_, back in Paris. But he didn't remember any of it except for a few dreams. She didn't know whether to be happy he was dreaming about her—even if they were memories returning—or to be upset. And it left her unable to be objective about the whole thing.

Now, on the third day since finding the bugs in Marta's home, she watched Jason stand at the window and tuck a spotting scope to his eye. The small piece of equipment allowed him to scan nearby buildings for any sign of surveillance. It was necessary, but it took a great deal of time and patience. Jason hadn't moved in the last fifteen minutes, leaving Nicky with nothing to do but dust the house now that they'd finished making their mess.

The apartment was as bug-proof as possible. She knew for a fact they'd found every piece of surveillance equipment there. Jason had even spent several hours checking the ducts and rigging them with laser alarms, and she had ensured that RF detectors covered the entire house. Most would say they were being paranoid, and maybe they were. But Nicky, Aaron, Marta, and Jason had all been surveilled or nearly killed enough times that none of them took chances with their safety.

"Nicky." Jason's quiet voice startled her out of her thoughts. She turned to him, her face blank, as he stood at the window. He'd changed position, moving so quietly that she hadn't heard him at all, and had lifted the spotting scope back to his eye, closing the other so he could see. He barely moved as he spoke. "I need you to obviously leave the apartment and drive somewhere."

She hesitated, and the set of his shoulders changed. "You found something?"

"Maybe."

She knew she shouldn't have questioned him, but it had slipped out before she could stop it. This Jason, while so close to the one she'd known and loved, was an unknown. But she gathered up her personal belongings, draped her bag over her shoulder, and left the apartment. Jason never moved, a lonely silhouette beside the window that was rock solid and utterly irritating.

_Why_ was she so frustrated with him? The question rolled around in her mind as she walked to her car and made a show of leaving the apartment. She normally didn't react so badly over disappointments, her time in Treadstone having inured her to life's problems. But Jason's insistence that she tell him what they were to one another had shattered her illusions that they could stay friends. The other day, when she'd kissed him, she hadn't thought about the consequences. That one angry kiss, though, had awakened desires in her that kept her up at night and haunted her into her dreams. She hadn't slept well in three nights, thanks to Jason's little stunt.

But could she truly fault him for pushing when he'd been dreaming things that he wasn't certain were fact or fantasy? She had no idea what he truly felt, partially because he didn't talk to anyone save, maybe, Aaron. The frustration on his face when he admitted to the dreams wasn't in any way intended to make her uncomfortable. It was the frustration of a man trying to find his place in the world. Why, then, did she wish she'd known about those dreams before kissing him? Was it because she would have reacted differently? Or was it because she would have latched onto them and hoped that they would rekindle their relationship?

Nicky sighed as she pulled into the drive-thru at the coffee shop where she worked. She'd been so lost in thought that she hadn't paid attention to the rearview mirror. Behind her, a tan sedan entered the parking lot and took a space near her position. She rolled down her window and ordered, making certain to lean out a little further than normal. The guy behind the wheel seemed enthralled with his phone, but she didn't take it as fact that he was just checking his messages before going inside to order. She hadn't seen him around before, and it worried her.

After receiving the completely unnecessary drink, Nicky left the coffee shop and blended back into traffic. The tan sedan followed her. She reached for her phone and dialed without looking. "Jason? I've got a tail. Looks like we drew him out."

oOo

Jason smiled when he heard Nicky's voice. "Keep him busy. I need to get into his apartment." He hung up a few moments later.

Leaving Marta's apartment, he leisurely made his way into the building he'd identified. Finding a sniper's nest was next-to-impossible if one didn't know what to look for, but he'd been a sniper for Treadstone. It had taken quite some time, scrutinizing each apartment window in several buildings for several days, mentally marking where he'd left off. But this was work he knew. It frustrated Nicky for him to be so silent and still for long lengths of time, but he needed to get into that nest and figure out what—if anything—this guy had.

Was this the tail that Aaron had noticed and warned Marta about? He hoped so. _Six foot, blond, and built like a linebacker._ That had been Aaron's description, and this person certainly fit the bill. Jason had watched through the window as the sniper stepped around a rifle and his own spotting scope to check something on the computer. When the guy glanced toward the window, he quickly retreated and moved, making certain he wasn't backlit. He found the guy already at his own scope. That's when he asked Nicky to draw the man out.

It had worked. The apartment was empty, and Jason had managed to get an approximate location. Now, he wandered the halls of the appropriate floor and picked the lock on the apartment he had deduced would be his sniper's nest. He was right.

The place was empty save for a bed, a few toiletries and clothes, and the surveillance equipment. That included an infrared scanner as well as a parabolic mic, rifle, scope, computer, and several other toys. The computer showed an innocuous wallpaper, but a few quick keystrokes brought up the _hours_ of video this guy had filmed of Marta and Nicky's apartment. Jason pulled a flash drive from his computer and watched it transfer, the anger in him surprising given that he knew this would happen. The idea that this guy had watched Marta and Nicky go about their lives. . . .He swallowed the curse that wanted to escape and set about studying the place.

This was a well-planned surveillance operation. Jason had done numerous missions like this, his mind filling in blanks and seeing the training. The problem he came across wasn't whether this guy had anything or not. He wanted to know _who_ had ordered the surveillance. Was Blondie a merc, or did he work for some shadowy government organization that had pulled the wool over the CIA's eyes? Jason looked for identification, but he found none.

After going through the apartment and taking care to not leave a trace of his presence while still leaving some of the guy's own equipment behind, he slipped back out, locked the door, and hurried back to Marta's place. A quick text to Nicky, and he settled in to wait for her arrival. She showed up thirty minutes later, staying silent as she drove him back to Aaron's house in Arlington Heights. Jason didn't push his luck, figuring two arguments in a week was enough. Instead, he tapped his fingers on his knee as he forced his mind away from the irritated woman beside him and onto the sniper.

At Aaron's, he let Nicky go inside while heading to the guest house. In the interest of putting space between himself and his former girlfriend, he'd begun the work. But he needed Aaron's help now. He knew relatively little about plumbing, and the bathroom needed to have a lot of it done. Heaving a sigh, he returned to the main house and quietly asked for Aaron's input.

The Outcome agent followed him into the guest house and looked around. The two of them had already decided that Jason would have free reign with the design, and he'd been putting his ideas together in his mind. But he had another reason for asking Aaron to join him. Pulling the flash drive from his pocket, he handed it over. "Found the sniper's nest," he said, seeing Aaron's head snap up at that. "He's been watching them for a few weeks."

"Since Le Colonial." Aaron shook his head. "I knew that guy was a problem."

"What do you want me to do?"

Aaron clenched his jaw as he thought. "Nothing," he finally stated. "Not with this guy. We need more information on who he is and who he's working for."

"I left a couple of his bugs that weren't destroyed there." Jason pulled a computer out of his bag. "It's not much, but I have an angle on the computer and rifle."

Aaron studied the screen, seeing the blond linebacker drifting in and out of the frame. "Good. You're sure this won't be detected?"

"Not one hundred percent, but fairly sure."

Aaron nodded, seemingly debating his words before straightening. "What happened between you and Nicky?"

Jason blinked at the question. He hadn't expected it, and having it just thrown out so casually caught him off guard. "Why?"

Aaron glared. "You two have been slamming around my house for days, and, frankly, it's getting on my nerves. Not to mention that Marta's already upset at being watched. She doesn't need the two of you not talking and acting like children." He turned toward the door. "Work it out," he said with a slight growl in his voice. "Then get over it." He left Jason staring at the door as it closed behind him.

oOo

Aaron sighed as he shut the guest house door and shook his head. There was no good time or way to bring up Nicky and whatever had happened the other night to a man like Jason Bourne. It just needed to be tossed out there and the fallout handled. He hoped it didn't alienate Jason, but he also wanted to get the man to think beyond the initial moment. Jason had lost a lot more than Aaron, but that didn't mean he needed to make everyone else's lives miserable.

Inside, Aaron found Marta washing dishes by hand while Nicky took a shower. With two tankless water heaters in the house, it made such feats possible. Aaron watched for a long moment, seeing the tension in Marta's shoulders and how she fought with her emotions. The last few days had been difficult for her, and the drama wasn't helping. Tonight, when neither Jason nor Nicky showed up for the meal she'd cooked, she'd almost fallen apart.

Moving across the room, Aaron slipped an arm around Marta's waist. "You know, I have a dishwasher for this purpose."

She tried to smile at him. "I don't mind."

Aaron watched her hands move across the dishes, scrubbing them with an almost obsessive need to have every bit of dirt removed. He reached over and stilled them, taking the plate from her and dropping it back into the scalding water. "What's going on?"

Marta shrugged, drying her hands with the towel he offered and leaning her backside against the counter. "I just don't know what to do." When he blinked, she clarified, "About everything. I want to go home and get back to life, but I don't think I can live with being watched all the time. And with this whole thing with Jason and Nicky. . . ." Her voice trailed off as she waved a hand toward the stairs.

Aaron moved to her side, leaning against the counter and letting their shoulders touch but not trying to comfort her. She needed to get this out, to vent the emotion before he sent her back to the city.

She swiped a hand across her face, an indication of just how close to a breakdown she really was. "I thought I was done with all of this," she admitted quietly. "I knew having Nicky around would be tough, but I thought I could handle it. I thought I was stronger than this, that I could put up with the idea that my life wasn't so simple anymore."

Aaron eyed her and, when she didn't continue, he prompted, "Now?"

"I don't know!" She pushed away from the counter and began finding lids for the leftovers. As she put them in the fridge, she continued straightening the kitchen out of a need to _do_ something. "I don't. . . ." She turned to face him. "I don't want to go back."

"You don't have to."

"Yes I do." She met his eyes. "Aaron, as nice as it is to be here, I can't go on like this forever. _Something_ needs to happen."

He understood. It felt like all of them were waiting on the edge of a cliff, just anticipating a shove that would take them through the next phase of their lives.

Then, like he'd seen her do so many times in the course of their lives, he watched Marta pull herself together. She straightened and moved back to the sink, now washing the dishes with calm movements. "Did you talk to him?"

Aaron shouldn't have been surprised by the question, but he was. Marta was perceptive to people, though it had been buried under layers of scientific study when he first met her. "Told him to work it out."

"Think he will?"

Aaron glanced at the ceiling as the water shut off upstairs. "He'd better." He shook his head again. "If I _ever_ get that way. . . ."

She rolled her eyes. "Aaron, you get that way all the time. You just have the courtesy of telling me what I've done wrong."

Because she said it in such a dry tone, he didn't take exception to her words. When they'd first met, he did have a habit of being blunt. Still did, but he'd learned to tone it down after several arguments in Johannesburg. Until then, they'd been in survival mode and hadn't taken the time to fuss at each other.

"Give them time," he said softly. "Jason's still settling into life, and Nicky's not sure about it either. Both of them have been hunted for so long they don't quite know what to do with themselves."

Marta nodded and finished the dishes. She rolled her head around on her shoulders. "I should go home."

The subject changes were really starting to give him whiplash. Aaron smiled. "Not tonight." When she gave him a sharp glance, he shrugged. "We'll watch a movie, then I'll take you home in the morning."

She stared at him for a long moment and then nodded. "A movie sounds good."

They spent the rest of the evening on the couch in his office, watching a romantic comedy that had nothing to do with fighting or action.

oOo

The small ranch near Rodeo, New Mexico, was perfect for their work. Ric Byer stepped out of the dusty car and looked around. Most of the out buildings had been torn down, leaving the squat adobe alone in the middle of nowhere. The door opened, and Vendel, his contingency plan, stepped outside. Neither man spoke, but Byer didn't think it necessary. Vendel had served his purpose and would continue to do so until he needed the asset buried in him.

Inside the adobe, Byer nodded in approval. It wasn't the crisis suite he'd used so many times in the past, but it would suffice. For now. Vendel had done an admirable job of organizing a makeshift crisis suite complete with televisions on the walls, an interactive map, and numerous techs bouncing around. They all eyed Byer with curiosity, but he ignored them. His focus narrowed onto the large flatscreen on his left and the two images there. Outcome 5 and Marta Shearing: the reason NRAG fell in the first place.

Deliberately turning his back to the images that seemed to taunt him, he met Vendel's gaze. "Where are we?"

Vendel nodded toward another wall, one that showed video of curtained windows and shadows moving about inside. A second screen next to it displayed the same view through an infrared signature. "We have real-time surveillance on Dr. Shearing's apartment, including her guest. We've also managed to locate Outcome 5, but getting surveillance on him is next to impossible."

Byer waved a hand. "We don't need surveillance on Outcome 5. This will work." He walked forward to the screen, seeing Marta Shearing appear through a small crack, talking on the phone. "Who is her guest?"

Vendel hesitated until Byer gave him a pointed glance. "Nicky Parsons of Treadstone."

To his credit, Byer barely reacted. Much like the moment he learned that Shearing and Cross had flown to Manila, he simply raised his eyebrows and inclined his head a touch.

So, Jason Bourne had come out of hiding. Byer knew that Parsons and Bourne had been close, if not intimate, and he doubted Bourne would leave Parsons exposed if he knew she'd retaken her real name.

Over the next week, Byer seamlessly integrated himself into the current operations of the newly formed National Recovery of Assets Group. Byer insisted on the name change since their focus was no longer on research. Instead, this group would exist for the sole purpose of finding and eliminating the threat to the American public. And men like Aaron Cross and Jason Bourne were threats to the sovereignty of the United States. Never mind that Byer had helped create Cross. That was in the past now that the idiot had gone and found his freedom.

Finally, Byer was ready. He'd spent the week going over the video the asset in Chicago had acquired, reports, and Vendel's own work. He knew everything he needed. He stood in the center of the adobe and glared at the image of Marta Shearing. "Activate the asset. Bring her in."

~TBC


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note:** Things pick up here, so be warned toward the end of the chapter that there is some triggers for some people.

**Lisa:** LOL! I wanted to shake both Jason and Nicky! But I hope that works out soon.

As always, hope you enjoy! ~lg

oOo

Within twenty-four hours of returning to Marta's apartment, Nicky knew she'd left things between her and Jason for way too long. Marta looked ready to snap even though she put on a brave face, and Nicky hated adding to that stress. So, on her second day back home, she slipped out of the apartment at the same time she usually went to work without telling Marta that she'd taken the day off. The coffee shop wasn't happy, but they didn't want to hire anyone else just to fire her, so they'd grudgingly agreed in exchange for extra shifts over the next several days to make up the time.

The drive to Aaron's house passed in quiet contemplation. Nicky flipped on the radio just for noise and promptly turned it back off again. She didn't want music, and the funk she'd been in since The Kiss, as she'd started thinking about it, was really beginning to annoy her. She had right about an hour before she faced Jason, and she needed her emotions in order.

_You're a psychologist,_ she thought. _Think this through!_

Why had she kissed him? She'd asked herself that for days. In the past, she'd always been able to hold her emotions in check with Jason, to put her own thoughts to the side while thinking about what was best for him. That had suddenly changed, and Nicky suspected it had a lot to do with her current circumstances. She'd had so little control in recent years that she wanted to dominate everything around her. She'd pushed Marta about Aaron and, while that had turned out well, it had been one way for her to exert control. Was that happening with Jason? Or was it deeper? Was she still in love with him?

She'd told him the other night that she couldn't just be friends, that she needed more. He'd been regretful, but the look he gave her clearly said he wasn't ready for that. As a result, she'd tried to punish him with silence when Jason had always been comfortable with it. Her emotional response had backfired.

She arrived at Aaron's before she figured herself out, and she wasn't shocked when the Outcome agent appeared in the door. Nicky forced herself to meet his eyes as she explained she'd come to see Jason and followed when Aaron led her around to the guest house. The front door of Jason's new home was open, the light within spilling onto the yard as the sun set behind it. From Nicky's vantage point, she could see the progress he'd already made with new cabinets and flooring. The smell of paint assaulted her, and she stepped inside in time to see Jason curse as he wiped a dollop off of the wood trim around a window.

Aaron jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "I'll be inside. Make yourselves at home in the yard."

Nicky waited until the Outcome agent had disappeared before looking around appreciatively. Some things were different, but the hues of the wood and floor combined with the paint and the frame-less bed reminded her of Paris. Of happier times. "I. . . ." She had no idea what to say. "I need to talk."

Jason had stood, frozen in place with a paint roller on a long pole until now. He nodded and set the roller down, carefully making certain he wasn't tracking paint along on the floor. He motioned Nicky to the one chair in the room and perched on the edge of the bed.

Nicky sat down, drawing her purse into her lap as she did so. "Can you tell me about your dreams?"

He chuckled, but it wasn't a happy expression. "So you can psycho-analyze me?"

"So I can answer your questions." She refused to look away when he met her gaze with a sharp one of his own.

Jason frowned at her, clearly confused. "The other day, you didn't want to hear about them."

"The other day, I was angry." She shrugged. "Jason, I asked you to leave something alone, and you didn't. I had no idea there were other reasons why you asked about us. I thought you just. . . .That it was just a way to get at me and learn more. I didn't know you had a reason." She finally glanced away. "Though maybe I should have," she muttered.

He stared at her as he processed what she'd told him. After another very long moment, he nodded. "I keep dreaming about. . . ." He shook his head. "About us. Not _that_ way. Just moments, really."

"Such as?"

"We're in an apartment that looks a lot like this," he said softly. "I've been in a fight and got my knuckles scraped up pretty badly. You're there, telling me that you're just a doctor checking in on the well-being of your patient. That Conklin doesn't need to know anything else, no matter how badly the mission went." He narrowed his eyes. "But there's more, isn't there?"

Nicky's breath caught as she remembered those moments. That night was forever etched in her mind because she and Jason had made promises to one another that neither had been able to keep. He'd left two days later for a mission that resulted in the loss of his memory, and she'd been dragged into Treadstone's and Blackbriar's attempts to bring him down. "That was the night you told me you loved me."

He'd been looking into the tiny kitchen of the guest house, but his gaze snapped back to hers so suddenly she wanted to recoil. "I did?"

"Yes."

"Then why. . . ." He squeezed his eyes shut, a pained expression coming across his face. Nicky forced herself to stay in her chair, not certain if he'd want her there or not. Finally, he blinked slightly. "I left right after that."

Nicky's heart sank as the expressions floated across his face. Understanding, concern, heartbreak, and confusion traded places with one another and became a mix that wasn't able to be defined. She felt she owed him a reason for why she'd worked with Conklin, Landy, and the others. "No one knew about us. I couldn't tell them, and they expected me to react like I'd always reacted. Not like I had just seen the man I loved have a kill order put on his file."

"And when I came to the safe house. . . ." He shook his head. "I had no idea. By the time I figured out you knew something, you'd cut your hair and were working with Landy."

"Changes had to be made." Nicky met his eyes. "Jason, I don't hold you responsible for what happened. You couldn't have known you wouldn't come back from that mission."

"Did I. . .I mean, were we. . .had we made promises?"

"If you're asking if we were engaged, the answer is no." She sighed. "But you told me we would talk about what our next step was when you came back. That if we had to disappear, we would. That, when the mission was over, we'd do what was right for _us_, not Treadstone."

He didn't comment, so Nicky let her gaze rove over the room. The bed was a simple box springs and mattress laid down on a packing blanket to protect the floor. A simple white comforter offered a bit of warmth, and a few pillows propped against the wall. Other than that and the chair, the place felt empty. Their voices echoed, and she wondered what Jason's plans for the house were.

He'd changed since returning to the States. For a few moments, Nicky allowed herself the luxury of studying him. He still seemed ready for the other shoe to drop, for the CIA to decide he needed to be killed. But he'd settled. In his mind, he'd recreated their flat in Paris, and that gave him stability. As did working with Aaron. In those few moments, she realized what a fool she'd been. "Jason, I'm sorry," she blurted out. When he blinked at her, she shrugged. "For being so upset when you asked me about us. If you want, I'll answer any questions you have."

"You said it was difficult for you after I left. Did you mean because of our relationship?"

"Yes." She met his eyes. "And because. . . ." She shook her head. "Everything changed. I left Paris, Treadstone was shut down, and I was just another psychologist and handler. And they wanted you dead."

"And you couldn't tell them about us." He stared at his hands. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

Nicky realized they'd entered an apology cycle and stood, dropping her purse in the chair as she looked around. "I like what you've done with the place so far."

Jason also stood, showing her the progress he'd made on the tiny home. Nicky listened to him talk and finally resolved a few things in her mind. Jason was no longer the man she'd loved, and he might never be that man again. But she still cared, and she could learn to care for him in whatever capacity he allowed.

oOo

The next week passed slowly, and Marta soon tired of the stress. Every day, she drove to work via a different route, one eye glued to the rear view mirror in a way she'd allowed to slip in recent weeks. Once, she thought she spotted a tail, but there were so many tan sedans in Chicago that she couldn't be certain. Inside her home, she tried to act normally, like she wasn't being watched from a nearby building. But it was difficult. She found herself almost afraid to shower in spite of Aaron's reassurances the guy wasn't watching her bathe, and sleep became a thing of the past. Twice, she drove out to Aaron's just to get away from the pressure and had drifted to sleep on his couch. He never complained and gave her the space she needed to cope with the pressures of life.

Nicky and Jason seemed to have worked out their issues, though Marta had been less than thrilled to learn her house guest had gone out to Arlington Heights without telling her. She supposed she shouldn't complain as it resulted in a much calmer atmosphere between both women. And it seemed to help Jason. Aaron commented that Jason had been more open about his life, and he felt that was in direct response to Nicky's visit that first night.

By the following Friday evening, Marta was ready to throw in the towel and just move. Whether that meant moving in with Aaron or moving closer to him, it didn't matter. She was tired of being watched, of knowing that Aaron and Jason were monitoring her "watcher" but unable to do anything yet, of not knowing if she'd make it to work or home. Ironically, she missed the lighter times, when they would sit in Aaron's back yard and talk and laugh like friends. The situation with the other asset keeping an eye on her had put a stop to all of that, and it made their moments together seem desperate and focused solely on what their next step would be.

Marta slid into her car and left her apartment building in the opposite direction of Aaron's home. He'd called that day, inviting her over for dinner, a movie, and sleeping on the couch if she needed. She appreciated the dry humor, knowing she likely would stay over. It made things between the two of them harder because, frankly, she wanted to fall into bed with Aaron and find better ways to relieve stress. But she also realized that sex wasn't the answer. Not now. They had begun to build something as deep, if not deeper, than what they'd shared during their years on the run, and she was afraid sleeping with Aaron would destroy that. She couldn't just risk everything she wanted for a moment of weakness.

So, she settled for telling him what she wanted for dinner and knew he'd have it cooked when they arrived. While they'd been on the run, Aaron had revealed a penchant for cooking that, while not something he was superb at, usually made her smile. His food was always adventurous and edible, even if she only ate it once. And he had such a need to help her that, whenever she mentioned a particular food, he would have it waiting. Tonight, he'd agreed on sausage fettuccine, a recipe she had found in a women's magazine that he'd promptly co-opted as his own.

Of course, the evening hadn't started out like they'd planned. He'd asked her to come over while the sun was still up so they could enjoy the summer evening. On her way out the door at work, she'd been waylaid by an eager intern who had a legitimate issue to solve that night. Marta had grudgingly called Aaron, explaining the situation, and they set the time for a late dinner. It meant she had a headache and had been forced to snack just to keep the hunger at bay, but she had packed a bag just to stay the night. Each day she spent with Aaron revealed another flaw in how she viewed him, and she didn't like the picture it painted. It showed her just how selfish she'd been, how he had treated her with nothing but kindness and love, and how she'd expected him to always be there. _Like a loyal pet_, her mind taunted.

Marta hated that image and resolved to change it.

Finally certain she had lost any tails that may have followed her from the apartment, Marta turned her car in the direction of Arlington Heights. The last few weeks had changed her mind about the distance from the city. There was a peace at Aaron's home that couldn't be found in her apartment, whether she'd known she was being watched or not. He lived as simply as ever, his life revolving around his job and her. To that end, he spent hours working on his house, and it showed in every corner of the place. They planned to look at the center guest bedroom tonight—the one where Marta had stayed—and decide on a design for it beyond white walls and a blasé red comforter.

With her mind so focused on leaving her stress behind in Chicago, she didn't quite notice the truck until it blinded her with its headlights. She blinked. "Hey, watch it!"

The driver backed off, so Marta ignored him and focused on her driving. She reached up to flip her rear view mirror to the night position, dimming the lights from the truck. But the side mirror still reflected them into her eyes and made it difficult to see. Looking at the white line along the right side of the road, she considered her options. Speed up, slow down and hope the guy passed her, or ignore him. Not exactly the best choices there. A quick tap on her brakes told her that he wasn't taking the bait. "So, you're going to be like that?"

She pushed away the thought that this was anything more than someone with road rage. After finding bugs in her house and suddenly being plunged back into the world of espionage, her paranoia had taken hold in full force. If this was a hit, then she needed to focus on driving. If this wasn't, then she still needed to focus on driving. Either way, panicking would do nothing.

The next few minutes were tense as Marta tried to see if this guy would back off and let her go. She kept her eyes on the road, blinking the spots out of her vision and wishing that she could see a little better. Her Bluetooth hung over her ear, and she glanced to where her phone lay in the passenger seat.

Waiting until the last minute to take the exit she needed for Arlington Heights, Marta's heart fell when the guy cut off two other vehicles to follow her. Horns blared as she reached for her ear, planning to call Aaron. Normal people might have called the cops, but if these guys were anything like NRAG. . . .

The truck suddenly sped up and slammed into the back of her car, causing an involuntary twitch where her fingers were on the Bluetooth. The small device flipped off of her ear and onto the passenger floorboard, disappearing into the blackness there. Marta cursed, a habit she'd picked up over the years from Aaron. Driving at night with someone trying to run her off the road meant she'd never find it. To make matters worse, her cell phone had joined it down there.

Gripping the steering wheel with both hands, Marta focused on not being run off the road. She wasn't trained to drive, not like Aaron, even though she'd been in several high speed chases in her life. The one in Manila—on the back of that motorcycle—had been the worst.

Flooring her gas pedal, she shot forward and frantically took a right turn without warning. Her tires squealed, and she almost lost control of the car. A little careful steering had her headed in the right direction: away from Aaron's. She couldn't bring this trouble to his door. But she didn't have a chance to do more than straighten her car out before the truck was back. She had entered a residential area, filled with cars and people coming home from work and others headed out for the weekend. Blowing through a red light, she breathed a sigh of relief when an SUV hit her attacker. She slammed on the brakes to slow down, already telling her racing heart to stop pounding, when a silhouette stepped in front of her car. She hollered at the idiot and yanked the wheel to the right, driving off the road and into a sturdy fence. Her car came to a stop on the other side of a shallow ditch, the front end crumpled against a tree. The jolt threw her forward to meet the airbag and stunned her.

Her door opened, and she turned with shaking hands to thank her rescuer. Instead, a needle jabbed into her neck, and the fuzziness from the accident grew until she lost consciousness. She never felt them remove her from the car or load her into the waiting van.

oOo

Something was wrong. Aaron knew it the moment he pulled the fettuccine out of the oven and glanced at the clock. Not that he needed it to tell him that Marta was late. Throughout the last week, she'd appeared right at the time they'd set up, not late and not calling him to tell him she'd been held up. That meant something had happened.

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, Aaron called her. The other line rang and then went to voicemail, Marta's bright tone telling him to leave her a message. Ending the call before the beep, he turned off the oven and covered the fettuccine with foil. Dinner would wait. Marta couldn't.

Making his way outside, Aaron heard Jason curse from the open door of the guest house. He peeked around the edge, frowning at the geyser of water that sprouted from the bathroom. Jason had been working to get the concrete block torn out for plumbing in that room and had, quite obviously, hit a water main. Still cursing, the Treadstone operative dove for any kind of towel or absorbent material to keep the water from damaging the wood floors while Aaron immediately rushed to shut off the water. He'd had to do the same thing in the main house, so he knew exactly where everything was located.

With the water no longer spurting into the air, Aaron stared at Jason from the door. "Marta's late. I'm going to look for her."

Jason stilled, a soaking towel still hanging from his hands and the bottom portion of his jeans dripping. "You need help?"

"Just stay here and do what you can to clean up." Aaron turned to the door, not liking that option. Jason was an ally and could be helpful, but a broken water main was equally important if it turned out to be something as minor as a fender bender. Aaron didn't think so, but he refused to completely give in to the paranoia. "If anything's wrong, I'll call. You can get Nicky."

He left before the other man could respond. Once back inside, he tucked the .45 in a holster at his back, a Ruger in an ankle holster, and his keys in his pocket. He climbed into his truck and started driving.

It didn't take him long. One of the ways he stayed up to date on what happened in the area was to put a police scanner in his truck. Tonight, the chatter was about a major accident at an intersection on the other side of Arlington Heights. A Ford Expedition carrying a group of high school kids had broadsided a Dodge Ram that ran a red light. Witnesses said a smaller, gray car whizzed through the intersection just before it.

Aaron turned his truck in that direction. Marta drove a silver Lexus.

Once at the intersection, he steered around the accident, looking like any other driver, and took stock of the injuries. There were several ambulances, and the SUV had seen better days. The Ram, too. Turning in the direction the Ram had been headed, Aaron narrowed his eyes to see better. His vision was beyond perfect, but the glare from streetlights sometimes threw it off. He wanted to be certain he didn't miss a thing.

Several blocks away from the accident, he spotted the skid marks. They turned sharply to the right, and Aaron stopped where they went off the road. Marta's Lexus had high-centered on the berm on the other side of a shallow drainage ditch, the front end connected to a tree. She'd obviously slowed down quite a bit before hitting the tree, but her airbags had still deployed. Her door stood open, keys still in the ignition, and steam rising from the engine. Aaron jumped out of his truck and rushed over, looking for any sign she had wandered off in a daze. Instead, he found men's sized footprints in the dirt, several different wear patterns, and what looked like drag marks. Her purse and phone were still in the car, the phone tossed onto the floor and out of reach of the driver.

Standing from his crouched position next to the car, Aaron felt the change. The Outcome agent had been triggered. It started at his head and went down his body, causing his expression to go blank and his muscles to loosen. Inwardly, he wanted to panic and go off the deep end, but his training wouldn't let him. This was too important. _Marta_ was too important. He gathered up any identifying information from the car that he could, taking her phone with him as he realized what was about to happen.

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he dialed Jason's number and turned his truck back toward his house. When the Treadstone operative answered, Aaron said, "Get to Nicky. Get to ground. I'll send you the address."

Then, after typing a quick text, he stopped at an alley long enough to pull the SIM cards from both phones, toss the batteries in the opposite directions, and roll over the leftovers as he drove away.

oOo

Through the doors of the coffee shop where she worked, Nicky appeared almost peaceful. She spoke with someone over her shoulder as she wiped tables, preparing them for the next day. Marta had been headed to Aaron's later than normal due to an unavoidable meeting at work—one that hadn't been planned. Now, Jason wondered if that was arranged just to catch her.

Putting that out of his head, he left the keys in the ignition of his Lancer and headed for the front doors of the coffee shop. There were still five minutes before the shop closed, but Jason couldn't wait. He pushed through, the bell overhead letting the employees know they had another customer. Nicky straightened, her smile freezing on her face as soon as she saw him. "What happened?"

Jason headed straight for her. "You alone?"

"No, but I told them I'd work extra. . . ."

"Good," Jason interrupted. He reached for her arm, trying to gentle his natural inclination to clamp down in order to control her. She didn't need controlling. Not anymore. "We need to get out of here."

"Where?" Thankfully Nicky didn't question him on why. She knew better.

"Cross has a safe house in Downers Grove." Jason pushed the door open as he pulled Nicky outside, still wearing her green apron. "Sorry you couldn't say goodbye."

She stayed silent until she'd opened the door of his car and climbed in. "Jason, what happened?"

Jason closed the door behind her and rounded the car to slip behind the steering wheel. "Marta's missing." He heard Nicky's sharp intake of breath. "Cross has gone to ground and wants us there."

She turned to face the front, a determined look crossing her face. "What do we know?"

"Not much." Jason glanced over his shoulder and then merged into traffic, winding his small car through openings that most wouldn't risk while staying within the flow of traffic. "She was run off the road in Arlington Heights."

"CIA?"

Jason glanced her way. "I hope not. And, as soon as I get with Cross about it, I plan to contact Landy. If they've betrayed us. . . ."

He didn't have to finish that statement. Nicky understood the implications of what had just happened. They'd allowed themselves to get close to people again, and now a friend was missing. Jason focused on driving while Nicky stayed silent in the passenger seat. Whoever had taken Marta Shearing was a brave man. Jason hoped he knew what he'd just brought down on his head.

oOo

Ric Byer watched as Shearing regained consciousness. He'd arrived a short time ago, finding the doctor handcuffed to a chair and gagged in a room with a one-way mirror. Now, he folded his arms across his chest as he watched her wince and blink. The drug he'd injected her with had some nasty side effects until it metabolized, including a raging migraine. It would leave her disoriented and, hopefully, a little more compliant.

As she looked around the dingy room and realized her situation, Byer thought about his next course of action. He'd been pleased with Chandler's work on this case in spite of the revelations they'd had. Jason Bourne's presence worried Byer, if he was honest, but he refused to let it stop him. This op was necessary for the safety of the United States and, if it led them to both Cross _and_ Bourne, it was also worth the risk.

Now, he had Shearing. She'd proven surprisingly resilient even before Cross rescued her, and Byer had no doubt she'd get as stubborn with him as she'd been with the strike team sent in to finish the job. She'd been brilliant and resourceful years ago, if a little deluded to the true intentions of Outcome, and he wondered if she'd resist should things get. . .physical.

In reality, Byer had no plans to kill Shearing yet. He'd decided he would toy with her and use her. To his right, Vendel watched her with a calculating, almost curious, expression on his face. And why shouldn't he? After all, he'd developed the drug that Byer had injected into Shearing's veins. But the other man also had a bit of confusion edging his expression, and Byer frowned. "What?"

Vendel glanced at him. "If we knew where she was, why didn't we just bring in Outcome 5 along with her?"

Byer supposed it was a valid question. He turned back to Shearing. "Because I want Outcome 5 to come to us." Leaving Vendel to watch through the glass, he strode into the room, deliberately turning on floodlights to brighten the area and make her headache worse. "Dr. Shearing. How kind of you to join us."

She blinked, her features pale under the dark hair that flopped into her face. "Didn't give me much choice."

Byer smirked at her response. "Still, I hope you're okay with where we're at. I would offer you something better, but. . . ." He shrugged. He'd never been one to play with someone in his custody, but time and prison changes a man. "I just need one thing from you."

"And then what?" In spite of the headache that had to be raging, Shearing looked directly into his face. "You—you just let me go? Return me to my life as if none of this ever happened?"

Byer's smirk widened. "You know the answer to that already."

She nodded and then paled further. A moment later, she bent to the side as far as she could go and vomited on the floor. Another of those nasty side effects. When she finished heaving, she sat back with a groan. "Can I at least get some water?"

Byer sent a pointed glance toward the one-way glass, and Vendel appeared a moment later with a glass full of tepid water. He held it while she rinsed her mouth and then drank, pulling away when she was done. Byer had to admire her spirit. She took only what she needed to clear the awful taste from her mouth before refusing anything else. Her spirit would make this. . .interesting.

Once she'd recovered a modicum of her composure, Byer shoved his hands in his pockets and studied her. "If I agree to release you once we have what we want, will you cooperate?"

She glared at him. "What if you tell me what you want and then I decide?"

Byer smirked at that. "You know what I want, Dr. Shearing, and there's no reason for you to continue to suffer for it. Tell us where Outcome 5 would go after your disappearance, and we'll set you up in a very nice location. Even make sure you can keep working. For us."

Her eyes narrowed, and she swayed slightly. "No."

The simple word didn't surprise him. Byer nodded as if he accepted the answer and then, without warning, struck.

oOo

The blow came from nowhere. Marta's stomach had finally settled when she was knocked to one side from a strong backhand. The chair tipped, and she landed on her right shoulder as sparks flew behind her eyelids. The raging headache somehow grew worse as she tasted blood.

Blinking her eyes open, she tried to focus on the man above her. He was thin, standing around six feet tall, and wearing a black suit. Somehow, it lent him an unassuming air that she knew better than to underestimate.

His form doubled, and she groaned as she dropped her head to the floor. At least the concrete was cold and soothed a bit of the headache.

The man turned toward the door. "I'll let you relax for a bit. Maybe, after you've recovered from the drug and are thinking clearly, you'll reconsider."

Marta closed her eyes against the shivering that began the longer she lay on the floor and told herself to relax. Aaron knew something was wrong. His instincts were good enough that he'd know she was late. She just had to wait, had to hold it together until he found her.

She didn't let the tears start until the door closed behind her interrogator.

~TBC


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note:** Just a quick note to thank my wonderful husband for his help with this story. He's much more of a strategist than I am, and he spent one very long evening helping me unbuild a wall I'd built in the writing of this story. It resulted in this chapter—and the next one—being rewritten with the entire ending of the plot revised. But, after reading it, I think it's a much better story.

**Guest:** So glad you're enjoying the story! LOL! This was a moment I'd foreseen since beginning the entire thing, so actually writing it was something of a relief.

**Lisa:** Thanks for the review! And, yes, Aaron will have his day. :) That's a guarantee!

As always, hope you enjoy the chapter! ~lg

oOo

Marta spent most of the night torn between crying and trying to think clearly. She knew her captors watched her, but she didn't care. She refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry while they were in the room.

The violence took her by surprise. When a door slammed some distance away from her cold concrete room, she jerked awake and groaned as bruises on top of muscle aches made themselves known. She still lay on her side, bound to the chair, and her right arm and hip had gone numb. The cold seeped into her body, making her shiver, and she felt the swelling on the side of her face where her interrogator had hit her. She had seen violence before, when the strike team came to her house to fake her suicide, but she had not been openly struck in a way to elicit information. Aaron had always shielded her from it.

The door to her room opened, and the man from the night before walked in, followed by a big blond guy who looked vaguely familiar. Marta bit down on her lip to keep from crying out when the big man unceremoniously set her chair back up. Her head spun, and the change in elevation combined with her injuries made the transition less than pleasant. Thankfully, the nausea didn't assert itself too terribly, so she glared up at the first guy to walk into the door.

He was tall and thin, wearing a suit and tie as if in a business office rather than an interrogation room. Now, he stood in front of her with his hands in his pockets, demeanor completely relaxed, as he studied her. Pale blue eyes watched her blink at him, and she saw the slight scowl between his eyebrows. Marta doubted he realized he even showed his thoughts, and she couldn't interpret them, not in her current condition. A large mole stood out on the lower right side of his chin, a defining feature she filed away for later.

He waited until she started wiggling her fingers out of a necessity to restore circulation. "Have you given our offer any thought?" When Marta rolled her eyes to look at him, he smiled ever so slightly. "Are you willing to tell us where Outcome 5 is?"

Marta's tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth as she answered. "No." The simple word, without the use of profanity, was as resolute as she could make it.

The man shot a look to Blondie behind her, and she felt hands take hold of her chair. A moment later, another slap rocked her body to the left and split the left side of her lip. Marta tried to roll with the blow as Aaron had taught her, and she lifted her head to stare through dirty, clumpy hair at her captor.

The man smirked. "If you tell us where he is, this will all go easier for you."

"I don't even know who you are."

The man's smirk widened. "I forgot. We were never fully introduced. Ric Byer, at your service."

Marta's eyes widened, her shock betraying her. _This_ was the man who hunted them around the globe? He looked. . .small. Tall, but too thin and almost anemic. She knew how far he'd go to get his hands on Aaron, though, and she refused to let that happen.

Byer smiled. "Now you understand my interest in your work."

"And I know you'll never let me go, so what's the point?"

Byer laughed. "Are you protecting him? He's nothing but a lab rat to you. Five. A number. You _created_ him."

Marta lifted her chin. "He's a _man_," she said in a low voice. "Just like you and your thug back there, only better. He has feelings, emotions. He loves, dreams, _thinks_. Just like any other man out there." _And I love him_, she thought.

The revelation could not have come at a worse time. She'd wanted to be with Aaron when that happened, but she'd been tied to a chair and almost beaten for information.

Byer stared at her, his blue gaze boring into hers with a force that surprised Marta. Finally, he nodded. "We don't need you to get Five to come to us."

"He has a _name_."

Byer's grin told her that his ploy to get under her skin had worked. He lifted his eyes and nodded at Blondie. "I'll leave you to think about your decision. But you have one more chance before I make my move with or without you. Trust me. It would be easier if you cooperated."

Marta glared at Byer as the two men exited, unable to take her eyes off of him. Her shoes had been taken the night before, and her feet sat on cold concrete while the rest of her body shivered. Her face burned from being struck, and she closed her eyes against it just to think.

She loved Aaron. Truly loved him, like she had back in Sydney, like she always had. It had been buried under layers of desires for the future, the ability to pursue her life without relying on him, and her natural independence. But the spark was still there, just waiting to be fanned into flames. Ironically, Byer's actions became the fan.

Marta looked around as her mind whirled. She was tied to a chair with no weapons, no ability to move, and in a concrete room that was monitored from multiple angles. Anything she did to try to escape would be caught before she could complete her actions. But she needed to get out of here. Byer was determined to find Aaron and kill him, and she just could not let that happen. As it had on the drive to Arlington Heights, her mind returned to her thoughts about how she'd treated Aaron. For so long, he'd been her pet, waiting for the scraps of attention and affection that she threw his way while he sat there with his heart open and his love for her apparent even when they no longer lived near each other. Now, more than ever, she wanted to change that, to return what he'd given her ten-fold and never take him for granted again.

The tears started once more, a result of the strength of those desires. If she got out of here, she planned to do just that. If it meant she left her job, she would. She wanted to give Aaron everything that he'd given to her. Protection, devotion, attention, love, and, most of all, trust. All those things, and more, had been put in her hands, and she refused to walk all over them again.

Drawing in a deep breath, she made her decision. She lifted her chin and looked directly to the one-way glass. "I know you're watching. I'll do what you want."

oOo

As soon as Nicky and Jason arrived at the Downers Grove safe house, Aaron herded them into a beat-up sedan he'd hidden there and pointed the way out of town. He'd set up a layered network of safe houses in case he and Marta ever needed to go to ground. Now, he drove through the night as Nicky wrapped a couple of blankets around herself in the back seat and Jason closed his eyes against the headache. For all of the side effects of the chems, Aaron was grateful he didn't deal with headaches.

The trip from Downers Grove to Bloomington, Illinois, typically took no more than two-and-a-half hours. Aaron stayed off the main roads, taking a longer, more circuitous route that kept them moving through the night. The sun had begun lightening the eastern horizon by the time he pulled into town. Throughout the ride, he'd listened to Nicky's soft snores and Jason's even breathing, his mind pulling out every available resource and examining it.

Right now, they needed intel, a _lot_ of intel. He had no idea who had taken Marta, though he had his suspicions, and he required a way to get that information. He didn't like the only option open to him, and the call would have to be made only if Jason and Nicky agreed. But. . . .

Sighing deeply, he glanced over at Jason. "Hey. We're here," he said in a soft voice.

The other man startled awake, blinking several times. Then, without another word, Jason reached through the opening between the seats to nudge Nicky. She mumbled something about coffee grounds and cheesecake, drawing amusement from both men. After a fraction of a second where both of them grinned, Aaron climbed from the car and left Jason to getting the Treadstone psychologist back to the land of the living.

He'd parked behind the run-down two-story home he'd bought in a short sale for a pittance of its worth and had not taken any time to fix it up. With three bedrooms and enough bathrooms that they'd all be comfortable, Aaron trusted it would house them safely for no more than a week. He had other bolt holes in the area, but his equipment had been hidden here. The driveway led around the house, keeping their car off the street and leaving them at a rear garage which held, among other things, a motorcycle.

The house smelled musty as Aaron unlocked the door and disabled the alarm system he'd installed. When he'd first done this, Marta had called him paranoid in that laughing way of hers that meant she understood. Through setting up their "escape plan," he figured out what he wanted to do with the CIA's money. He just hated disappearing on his crew and hoped to still have a contract when this was over.

Nicky stumbled through the door a moment later, her hair and clothes rumpled but eyes bright as she looked around. Their steps echoed on the hard wood, and she immediately headed upstairs for a shower. Aaron called after her to let the water run for a bit so it heated up, and she simply lifted a hand in a wave. Then, he motioned for Jason to join him in the attached garage, nudging the air conditioner on as he passed the thermostat.

The garage had been converted into a "lair," as Marta had named it. While not the newest equipment out there, Aaron had everything he needed to plan and implement an op. One wall held locked metal cabinets with weapons while laptops had been stored in protective sleeves to prevent dust from building up in the components. Now, he moved to the nearest one, opening it up and logging into a Yahoo account he'd set up for just such an event.

It seemed incongruous with the rest of their lives, but Aaron had discovered that news reports provided a starting place for information digs. Things were not always what they seemed to bystanders, and car accidents could be turned into escape attempts or assassination plots with very little work. Now, he skimmed through Yahoo's top stories, not seeing anything standing out and moving on to recent events in large cities. The work took a while, and he saw that Jason had begun to do the same thing. The two men didn't speak, but they communicated well. Nicky returned, and Jason put her to work on another computer. There was no need to draw attention to themselves by hacking secured databases until they had something to use.

It took several hours, several cups of coffee, and some breakfast burritos that Nicky made after a trip to a nearby grocery store. Aaron and Jason had stayed at work while Nicky cooked, though both of them gratefully thanked her for the massive meal she delivered. Aaron tore into the burrito, wishing he'd been able to eat the fettuccine from the night before but not mourning over things that couldn't be helped. The food helped fortify him, and he appreciated that Nicky had thought about something so basic.

Then, he saw it in a news article from over a week ago. The Washington Post reported on the ambush of a police convoy carrying a prisoner to a Senate hearing. An armed posse had waylaid the convoy, using familiar tactics to get the unnamed prisoner released into their custody and making off before reinforcements could show up. As impossible as that sounded, Aaron knew there were ways to do just that. He'd worked with teams that had done similar things, and his heart dropped as he read through the scant bit that the Post offered.

"Hey." His voice felt rusty from not speaking for so long. He glanced at Jason. "Take a look."

Jason read over his shoulder, his eyes skimming the article with the same awareness that Aaron's had. He glanced at Nicky. "Can you find out anything about this?"

She shrugged. "Let me work on it. Give me a few hours."

Aaron, needing to get up and move, waved her on and headed for the other portion of the house. He also needed a shower and some rest, but knowing Marta was out there didn't let him relax. Still, if he was going to be in prime condition to help her, he would have to find a way to silence that portion of his brain.

Upstairs, he took a hot shower and then laid down on one of the mattresses in a bedroom. Slipping his .45 under his pillow, he closed his eyes and forced himself to sleep.

Jason woke him three hours later with a knock on the door. The tension was evident in the way Aaron snapped awake, his hand gripping the hilt of the gun even if he didn't draw it. Jason raised an eyebrow. "Nicky got something."

Aaron nodded and returned to the garage, where Nicky sat at the computer, her face sober. She looked from Jason to Aaron and back. "It was Byer."

Had he not been awake, _that_ would have brought him to full awareness. "Byer?"

"The prisoner was Ric Byer, on his way to another Senate hearing about his work for the National Research Assay Group," Nicky said quietly. Her voice betrayed only a small note of apprehension. "He had apparently planned the entire thing from inside and, since Leavenworth is actually a medium-security prison, it wouldn't be too hard for someone who knows how the system works. It would just take time."

Aaron's heart sank into his shoes as the news settled over him. Ric Byer, the man who had _trained_ him and given him his orders, likely had Marta. Yes, he'd jumped to conclusions, but it made sense. Byer had hunted Aaron and Marta across the globe until they managed to get enough on him to bring him down. The only reason Aaron had sat back and allowed American justice to be done was for Marta. She had hated for him to murder Byer in cold blood. Now, as icy rage began flowing through his veins, Aaron clenched his fists. This time, he _would_ kill Byer.

Nicky and Jason waited, looking to him for instructions. This wasn't their fight. Noah Vosen had been taken down and was still in prison, and everyone else related to Treadstone and Blackbriar were either dead or on their deathbeds. This was _Aaron's_ fight, and he had the right to make the calls.

Meeting Jason's eyes, he reached for two burner phones he'd kept in the garage for this purpose. "Call Landy," he said. "We need every available resource we can get. Right now, Landy's got information and access to databases that we need. Not to mention personnel."

Jason nodded and dialed from memory.

Turning to Nicky, Aaron pulled a flash drive from his pocket as he continued, "This has all the surveillance we were able to pull from the sniper's apartment. The one watching the two of you. Go through it and see if you can figure out who his contact is. I'll backtrace the people Marta worked with, see if any of them were compromised in the process."

A few moments later, Jason returned. "Landy's got her team on it, and she got us access to some resources. But she wants to be in on the take-down."

Aaron considered his options for a moment. Right then, they were isolated and in dire need of any assistance the CIA could provide. By allowing Landy to be involved, he gained a huge network of intel and resources. "I make no promises about Byer," he said softly.

Jason nodded. "She knows."

The trio went to work again as the day progressed. This time, Jason went for food, returning with enough for that night and the next day. Aaron trusted Nicky and Jason to keep a low profile while about, and he devoted every bit of his attention to his background checks. He scrutinized every coworker of Marta's, their relatives, and every other person connected to her new job. Some of them had questionable online activities—one was downright addicted to online poker and other, less appealing enterprises—but none had been in contact with anyone suspicious. Most of the emails and such were either personal or professional in nature, and they did nothing to hide things from someone skilled in hacking. Granted, the hiding came from spouses, and there were a few that caused Aaron to raise his eyebrow. But he found nothing in a cursory scan that indicated Byer or anyone from the now-defunct NRAG had contacted them. Marta's colleagues seemed above board for the most part.

Leaning his elbows on the table, Aaron laced his fingers together and leaned his forehead against his thumbs. He had a headache and was no closer to knowing _where_ Marta had been taken. Except for his three-hour nap earlier, he'd had no sleep in nearly forty-eight hours. He'd become accustomed to a lot more, and his body now screamed at him to call it good for the day. Jason was in a corner, speaking with Landy as he relayed the intel they'd uncovered. Landy had proven to be a good move for them. She not only understood the dangers they faced, but she'd been instrumental in bringing down those responsible for Treadstone, Blackbriar, Outcome, LARX, and a host of other programs. While not keen on being drawn back into the middle of things, she willingly helped Aaron, Jason, and Nicky obtain the information they needed. And, right now, she had as little as they did save for footage from traffic cams of the ambush.

What Aaron wanted was to rush off, storm the building where Marta was being held, and remove any and all resistance to bringing her home. They could rebuild elsewhere if Chicago wasn't enough for them, and he had no problem with supporting her through this newest complication. He just wanted her back, safe and relatively unscathed. Because Byer likely had her, he doubted she'd be unharmed in any way.

Finally, Aaron made a decision. He sent Nicky to bed and took over watching the hours of surveillance footage while Jason rested for a bit. Around midnight, Jason came back to the garage and kicked him to the bedroom for several hours of uninterrupted sleep. Landy and her team worked on the East Coast for them, and Aaron knew he could do nothing until that side of the intel came through. Their agreement with Landy meant they'd have to wait for her to arrive anyway. This delay was just another in an unavoidable line of them.

The phone call came mid-morning the next day. After hours of no information and no contact, Aaron physically jumped when the second burner phone on the shelf rang. It was a number he'd insisted Marta memorize months ago, one he'd set up in case they ever found themselves in a bind. The light chatter between Nicky and Jason, who worked well together now that they seemed to have resolved their issues, fell silent as Aaron reached for the phone. He punched the Answer button. "Yeah?"

"Aaron?" Marta's voice shook slightly, and he put the phone on speaker.

"I'm here." He tried to sound as "normal" as possible. "What's going on?"

"Uh. . . ." She hesitated, and he heard a whisper in the background. "I'm okay," she said when she finally spoke, sounding as if she were quoting what someone else told her. She rattled off an address back in Chicago, the warehouse district, and ended with, "You have twenty-four hours to appear unarmed before things get worse."

Aaron nodded, understanding what "getting worse" would entail. As it were, he could hear the slight lisp in Marta's speech that indicated she'd been beaten. His blood boiled at the thought that _anyone_ would lay a hand on her, and he silently vowed to kill the man responsible. "I'll be there," he assured her in a warm tone.

"And Aaron? Would you feed the cat before you come? I forgot to put down extra food when I left." The phone line went dead before he could respond.

Nicky blinked. "Cat?"

Aaron glared. "Prearranged code. She's been kidnapped and is in danger. We're walking into a trap."

Nicky went back to her computer. "But we have an address. That means we can plan something."

Aaron turned to Jason. "Call Landy. Tell her we need that backup she promised."

Once again, Jason wandered off with his phone glued to his ear. As he spoke with Landy, Aaron started going through the workshop, gathering everything they might need. The phone Marta had called went into his pocket. He also gathered up the computers and weapons, stuffing them into bags and packing up the remains of their presence.

Jason finally returned. "Landy will be in Chicago in three hours with teams ready to mobilize." He met Aaron's eyes. "She knows the stakes and knows what our priorities are."

"Good." Aaron nodded. He tossed Jason the keys. "You're driving."

Jason caught the keys and tucked them into his pocket. The trio gathered up any sign that they'd been there, whether trash or food, and shoved it in the trash can. The back of the car was filled with computer equipment, Bluetooth headsets, and the one burner phone that Jason used to contact Landy. Aaron kept the one that Marta had called him on, making a mental note to buy three new ones when they arrived in Chicago. He and his team needed to communicate.

They left Bloomington, going back the way they'd come in silence. This time, Jason drove and Nicky sat up front, leaving the back seat for Aaron to stretch out in and prepare. Ever since inviting Jason into his home, he'd wondered how this friendship would work out. Now, he knew. He was in trouble, and Jason was there to help. He'd happily return the favor if the day ever came, and he refused to consider that it would come without Marta. He _would_ get her back. And, when he did, he would not let her go.

oOo

Nicky sat in silence, laptop over her knees and closed, for the entire trip back to Chicago. She glanced at Jason, seeing the utter focus on his face and remembering the trip from Spain to Tangier. The operative was back, a man she knew better than he knew himself and someone she was comfortable seeing. But it wasn't what she wanted. She wanted the semi-openness they'd shared a few nights ago when she appeared at the guest house.

A quick glance in the backseat told her Aaron was lost in thought. While he might hear everything that happened in the car, it wouldn't really register unless she brought up one of the names that occupied all of their minds. Turning to Jason, she spoke softly. "How are the headaches?"

Jason's eyes slanted her way and then back to the road. "They're fine." Then, he sighed. "Had a pretty bad one last night."

Nicky took a risk and reached out to touch his hand. She'd done this many times before he lost his memory, and the simple contact seemed to be all he needed to remember he wasn't alone. Unlike Aaron, who seemed to touch almost everyone in some way, Jason had always been a bit standoffish and confused by the Outcome agent's obviously tactile nature. Now, as she slipped her hand across the dry, rough surface of Jason's palm, she saw the way he frowned at her actions and then laced their fingers together. It warmed her heart when he held her hand like this, reminding her of a time she'd thought in the past. She looked back at him, seeing the way he watched her, and offered a smile. The grin she got in response was enough for now.

The rest of their allotted twenty-four hours was spent either traveling or preparing for the mission. Jason held Nicky's hand all the way into Chicago, letting go only when he needed. Once they reached the city limits, Aaron started showing more signs of awareness. He ran a hand over his face as Jason drove directly to the CIA field office. Once there, Nicky felt all of her issues with the CIA come roaring into the present and pushed them away. She could worry about that later.

Landy met them at the door, offering a hand to shake to each of them. The older woman's face was lined in new places, and gray touched her blond hair more now than it had in the past. Nicky had always appreciated Landy's respect for her position in Treadstone, however, and she found herself relaxing the longer she was there.

After their initial greetings, Landy led the trio to a crisis suite where an entire team working to track Marta's location. Aaron explained the code he and Marta had set up and what it meant, and Landy simply pointed as one tech started working to get what information they could on the safe house. A surveillance team had been dispatched to the compound and returned with footage of the warehouse. The security was tight, and simply getting into the place would be tricky. Jason and Aaron looked over a tech's shoulder as they set up a way to hack Byer's security system. Through it all, Landy watched from a distance, content to let Aaron and Jason make suggestions and hover as long as they didn't interrupt normal operations. Nicky idly wondered if part of Landy's reasons was how jumpy the techs became with _the_ Jason Bourne behind them, but she quickly dismissed that thought. Landy was too professional and respectful of others.

Finally, the tech sat back in the chair a self-satisfied smirk on her face. "I'm in."

Aaron moved across the room in a heartbeat. The feed had been shifted to one of the large screens on the wall. It displayed multiple cameras, and Nicky quickly found the four that showed Marta ziptied to a chair. Aaron growled under his breath when he saw the bruises on her face, and Nicky suddenly had the urge to scoot away from the angry operative. Several of the techs actually did shift their positions. She wanted to feel sorry for the poor schmuck that stood in Aaron's way, but she couldn't bring herself to that level of compassion. These people had kidnapped one of her only friends.

Between the cameras and the systems that Landy's team managed to hack, they were able to formulate a plan. They printed a copy of the blueprints, providing them with much-needed information. The "warehouse" wasn't so isolated or run-down as they'd thought. The inside walls had been reinforced with concrete and steel, and getting in and out would be doable but not the easiest thing they'd done. The place was a maze, deliberately designed so that someone unfamiliar with the building would get lost and go in circles. It would take someone on this end guiding them to get to Marta even with the schematics memorized. Aaron had been in enough of these places to know how different things looked once inside.

Then, the tech hacking the database cursed. The team turned to frown at him, and he shrugged. "I hit a firewall. I can get around it, but it'll take time. And they'll likely know I'm there."

Landy sighed. "You sure?"

"Yes, ma'am." The tech held up his hands helplessly. "The only way to get the information there without tipping them off to the fact I'm in their systems is to download it at a terminal in their network. As it is, they could find me at any moment."

Landy let out a deep breath. "So, this has turned into more than an extraction."

Aaron ran a hand over his face. "I'll go in and get Marta." Seeing Landy's doubtful look, he glared. "Try and stop me. Besides," he continued with a slight shake of his head, "she called _me_. Byer expects me to show up. I'll be the distraction by appearing at the right time and get Marta out. Bourne goes in the back and gets the intel. Your teams provide even more distraction and backup once we're in."

Landy thought over the plan then nodded. "Okay. Nicky and I will coordinate from here." She turned to Jason. "I believe she was your handler in Paris?"

Nicky shared a long look with Jason, one laden with meaning, before Jason agreed with a nod.

Landy sighed again. "Good. Then get some rest. We've got a long day ahead of us."

Nicky turned back to the screen, her eyes drawn to the sight of her friend. Marta appeared to have passed out, and she'd been left alone. But Nicky saw how Marta shivered slightly, saw her bare feet and the blood around the zip ties. Aaron was going to _murder_ the man responsible for this.

A hand slipped onto her shoulder, startling her. She turned as Jason squeezed gently, offering yet another smile. Nicky nodded, not needing words to get the message. Jason had always communicated like this before, and it warmed her heart to finally understand a bit more of the man he was now. When they got Marta back, she intended to sit with him and tell him everything: how they met, where they first realized they cared for one another, their first night together—no details, of course—and anything to help jog his memory. Perhaps if she was patient rather than pouty like before, she would find a way to love this new Jason as much as she'd loved the old one.

At the time set for the men to leave, Nicky tucked her headset into her ear so she could stay in contact with them. As Landy started ordering her teams into place to prepare for the op, Nicky called for Aaron. "Bring her home," she said softly. "And be careful. Both of you."

Aaron offered her a tired nod, mouthing what looked like the word "okay." Jason simply held her gaze for a touch longer and then disappeared out the door. With a group other than her friends for the first time in three days, Nicky let out a deep breath. And waited.

~TBC


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note:** So, this is the second chapter that got rewritten, but, as I said before, I think it's made for a better story.

**Lisa:** LOL! Yep, Aaron's going to get his revenge. :D Eventually. ;)

As always, I hope you enjoy the chapter! ~lg

oOo

Infiltrating the base where Marta was being held was completely different from anything Jason had done in recent years. Every other time, he'd gone alone with no backup and no information save what he'd been able to gather through observation. While he had the skills to use security feeds, he'd never had the equipment. Now, he had an entire CIA team waiting for his signal to move in.

He arrived at the compound via the small car they'd driven back to Chicago and parked out of sight near a used warehouse. With Nicky's voice in his ear, he approached the compound on foot and managed to avoid the security cameras. Taking refuge in a shadowed corner, he waited.

Jason checked his watch. "I'm here."

"_Good._" Nicky sounded completely focused. "_Looping security cameras. . .now._"

Jason moved then. Reaching the door, he glanced up at the camera, knowing she'd see him. Having her watching over their operation was something of a comfort. With Landy's assistance, she had eyes and ears on everything going on inside. He stopped just inside and listened for anyone approaching before asking, "Which way?"

"_Left._" Nicky sounded completely certain. "_You'll go twenty feet and make a right. From there, follow the left wall until you come to an office labeled 'Intake.' That's where you'll find the terminal to access their database._" She didn't say the office was at the end of a long spiral designed to confuse anyone who arrived, Treadstone or not.

With Nicky keeping an eye on his progress, Jason jogged forward and glanced around the corner that would lead him to the office. Two security guards walked languidly in his direction, unaware that their compound had been breached. Jason pressed his back against the wall, breathing slowly and waiting. He idly noted that Aaron had arrived, speaking to Landy as he got his directions that would take him to Marta's location. It didn't distract him even when the Outcome agent audibly grunted as someone attacked him almost immediately. Jason had come in a back door while Aaron had deliberately walked through the front.

Then, the guards were on him. Jason flung his right arm out, clothes-lining one of them while quickly whirling on his heel to punch the other. The guy he clothes-lined hit the ground hard, cracking his head on the concrete floor and sending himself into a daze, while Jason blocked a startled blow aimed for his solar plexus. He twisted the second guard's arm, hearing a satisfying crunch at the elbow, and the man shouted in pain. Another jab, and he went down, pain and a concussion rendering him unconscious. By this time, the first guard had recovered enough to draw his weapon. Jason kicked it out of his hand and managed to get him in a choke hold, waiting until he, too, had slipped into oblivion.

Hugging the left wall, he started walking. Every security camera he passed, he sent a significant glance upward, knowing Nicky could see him. It felt good to have her watching his back, making certain he stayed on the right path. It seemed familiar, and he shook away the sensation of déjà vu in order to focus.

Three more guard patrols, and Jason found the Intake office. He glanced up at the camera across from the door. "I'm here."

Landy's voice took over. "_The flash drive we gave you should automatically start downloading their files once you plug it in. You might have to hold that position for a while depending on how much information is there._"

Jason pushed the door open, sweeping the room briefly before moving to the computer. "Any pass codes I need to know about?"

He heard the sound of a keyboard over the open line, then Nicky answered, "_Only what they gave you._"

He nodded and barricaded the door before sitting down behind the computer. With one eye watching the door, he plugged the flash drive into the USB port and sat back to wait.

oOo

Simply walking through the front door drew attention. Aaron had known it would, but he'd been unprepared for the aggression. He'd had to fight right away when a nervous guard pointed a gun at him and went for the trigger. The next few moments were spent hearing Landy warn him of coming patrols and taking them down two at a time. He took a few hits of his own, one of them in his gut causing him to double over. But he recovered in time to block the syringe headed for his carotid artery.

The number of guards was one thing he had expected. This was Byer, after all, and the man knew what he was capable of almost better than he did. Aaron hated the idea of Marta being in Byer's hands, and he knew just how this would end. There would be no mercy for Byer this time. The man would either die, or Aaron would spend however long it took to hunt him down and end him. He and Marta _needed_ this threat out of their lives for good.

Glancing up at a security camera where Nicky watched both him and Jason, Aaron nodded. "I'm good," he said softly, knowing that the question would be rolling through her mind. He'd just fought off no less than ten armed men, dodging bullets the entire time. They had come at him in waves, the first four arrogant and thinking he couldn't maneuver in a tight spot. They'd been wrong. After they called for reinforcements, Landy had told him where they'd appear, adding to his advantage. Part of him wanted to grin at the mental image of the CIA's techs who'd watched his little display, but he knew better than to get distracted.

He glanced out the front window. "I'm going for Marta," he said softly.

"_Acknowledged_." Landy's voice was completely focused. "_Teams Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie, move in._"

A moment later, the first of the strike teams entered behind Aaron. He led the way down the corridor Landy indicated and allowed his mind to narrow to his one objective. Marta. Landy would deal with the other stuff, but he had to get to Marta. Nothing else mattered.

oOo

Byer stood in the security room near Shearing's cell, blinking at the feeds from the security cameras and listening to the guards calling for backup. The cameras had obviously been looped, and the person who had done it was good. He hadn't expected Outcome 5 to come quietly, but bringing a partner wasn't exactly Cross's style. Outcome agents had been trained to work alone, not with a team.

Beside him, Chandler, the asset assigned to watch Shearing in Chicago, stiffened. "Bourne."

Byer turned, his eyebrow raised. "Excuse me?"

"Jason Bourne. He was in Chicago."

Byer cursed. Chandler had informed him of Bourne's presence, and he suddenly realized his own arrogance. He'd ignored a vital resource that Cross could access. With Bourne, Cross's connection to Pamela Landy and the CIA was almost unbreakable. He returned his attention to the monitor. "It doesn't matter. Right now, we need to contain these two and eliminate them. We know why Cross is here. Why's Bourne here?"

Vendel, who had been keeping a quiet vigil in the corner, spoke up. "Information. He's looking for information."

"For Cross?" Byer asked.

Chandler nodded. "Probably."

Byer cursed again. Jason Bourne and Aaron Cross were formidable enemies by themselves. If those two had somehow teamed up and brought the CIA with them. . . .He turned and pointed at Chandler. "Watch Shearing. Make sure neither of them gets to her." He turned to Vendel. "What safeguards have you put in place?"

"Explosives at every vital portion of this structure. It'll destroy the place by bringing it down on their heads."

Byer had to admit Vendel's methods were effective. "Put them on standby. If we can't contain this, we'll accept the losses and regroup." He waited while Chandler left the room. "Vendel, listen to me closely. The near future is where you'll find your destiny.

He watched the change. Vendel's face went blank, and he blinked twice. When he turned back to Byer, his expression had shifted to one that he typically saw on assets' faces. Byer smiled. He'd made no plans for this to go south even though it had. By triggering the asset in Vendel, he gave himself an advantage.

Looking at his chief of security for the compound, he sighed. "Find out what information they're after and, if possible, how they've accessed our feeds and where their tech support is. I want to know as soon as you get it so we can start tracking their movements."

The man nodded. "Yes, Sir."

Byer, followed by Vendel, left the room, headed for the garage and a car he had waiting to take him to a nearby airstrip. He'd drawn Outcome 5 to him, thinking Cross would come alone. He hadn't been prepared for the heavy firepower he brought with him. As the security office worked to undo the video loops, he ducked around a corner and found himself pushed to the ground. Vendel had sensed something Byer had missed, and the asset turned to fire his gun at an approaching CIA operative. Byer blinked as the operative fell. Where had Vendel gotten the gun?

Then, he shrugged it off. He needed to get out of here, and Vendel was his best option for staying alive.

oOo

Finding Marta wasn't hard for Aaron. He'd memorized the schematics of the place during their planning, but he relied on Landy for warnings about guard patrols. Since his rather explosive entrance into the compound, he'd drawn more attention than Jason, which had been their plan. But it went deeper than that. Byer had Marta, and Aaron wanted to make sure no one came after her again. This. . . .this was his message to them.

Still, he knew the dangers of killing indiscriminately. Back in Manila, when those guards tried to kick him and Marta out of the Sterisyn lab right after viraling off the chems, he'd killed a couple men. And the LARX agent. . .That had been Marta, though, and he'd been so proud of her when she told him what happened. She'd used the tools available to her at the time—a motorcycle helmet—and her surroundings—the pillar—to end the threat. Since then, however, Aaron had done his best to minimize casualties. He did kill any assets sent after them, but he also realized that security guards and local police were just doing their jobs. In the end, they didn't deserve to die for following someone else's orders when he'd done the same thing for years.

This entire operation seemed a bit odd for Byer. They knew the man was behind capturing Marta, and Aaron's gut told him Byer was here, but the compound was different. It almost felt as if Byer had taken over someone else's operation and simply used the available resources.

That really didn't matter, Aaron decided. No matter what had happened to Marta while she'd been here, Aaron would make sure she got out alive. Then, the two of them would talk long and hard about their living situation. He already hated having her so far away, but he'd tried to give her the space she needed. Since Nicky's arrival in Chicago, Marta seemed more willing to compromise and work on their relationship, and Aaron had been patient with her. But this. . . .Having her in Byer's custody had only happened one other time, and he'd been right beside her. They'd managed to break out before Byer could touch either of them. Knowing she'd been with Byer for over twenty-four hours made Aaron's stomach turn, and he refused to lie down and let her walk over him again. If it caused arguments, then he'd deal with it. But he couldn't lose her.

"_Aaron!_" Landy's sharp voice told him he'd allowed himself to become momentarily distracted.

"What?" He couldn't keep the irritated tone from his voice.

"_Pay attention!_" She sounded just like some of his teachers when he was a kid. Then, her voice softened. "_Marta's straight ahead. You're in the direct center of things with a security outpost. . . ._" Her voice trailed off as a tech in the background cursed.

Aaron raised an eyebrow. "What?" he asked again, softer this time. He heard the conversation over the comms and tried to be patient.

"_They found us._" Landy paused to give an order to someone there, her tone unruffled by it all. "_They're undoing the camera loops, so they'll know where the two of you are._"

"How's Bourne?"

Jason's voice entered the conversation. "_Got the files,_" he said. "_Heading to the extraction point._"

Aaron nodded. "Wait for me there. We may have to improvise."

No one commented on that.

Aaron leaned his head forward to peek around the corner, seeing the big blond linebacker pacing outside a closed door. To the right of that room, another door opened, and Byer left, followed by a tall man with no hair and a thick beard and mustache. Aaron backed away quickly before he was discovered, slipping into an unused office while the pair walked past him, seemingly unaware of his presence. Back the way he'd come, gunfire erupted, and he grinned. Perhaps he wouldn't have to worry about Byer much longer after all.

Moving back to the corner, Aaron listened in on the security personnel as they discussed what to do about the CIA's intrusion into their systems, and then one guy got real excited. The name "Bourne" passed their lips, and Aaron knew this was it.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped around the corner and boldly walked toward the linebacker. It was the same man he'd seen in the restaurant during his and Marta's first date. The guy turned to face Aaron, a feral grin forming as he drew his weapon. Aaron moved quickly. He was outweighed and shorter than the guy, but he'd fought bigger opponents than this, and they'd _always_ underestimated him.

Rushing forward, Aaron grabbed the gun and pushed it away from his body as it went off. He felt the hammer pinch his palm, but a quick jab to the guy's throat threw off his concentration so that Aaron could wrench the gun from his hand. Tossing it aside, he then slammed the man's head back into the concrete wall. Blondie shook his head to clear it, striking out at Aaron with well-timed punches that he dodged easily enough. He moved close, blocked a strike aimed for his ribs, and pulled. Blondie, not expecting the move, stumbled forward until Aaron brought a knee into his gut.

The fight continued up and down the hallway. Several security personnel slipped out of the room, thinking they could help the asset and wound up either wounded or dead. In the heat of battle, Aaron stopped caring about preserving lives and simply defended himself. All that mattered was Marta, and he had to go through these men to get to her.

So be it.

oOo

Marta heard the fighting. She blinked, her eyes gritty, as she tried to bring the room into focus. After calling Aaron, Byer had injected her with another syringe that left her unconscious for an unknown amount of time. The sound of a body slamming against the door of her cell startled her awake, and she groaned as the nausea took over. But she was gagged, so giving in would be very, very bad.

Slowly lifting her head, she leaned back in the chair in an effort to relieve the pressure on her spine. Her feet stung from the cold concrete, and her hands were numb. She knew she'd struggled against her bindings to the point of drawing blood, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Aaron was here, now, and he would get her out. She was sure of it. And, as soon as she'd recovered and they'd brought down Byer for good, she intended to show Aaron just how seriously she took their relationship.

The door slammed open a moment later, the brightness of the lights outside piercing her eyes and making it hard to see. But she recognized the silhouette that walked toward her. She blinked again, surprised at the relieved tears that came to her eyes. _Oh, thank God! Aaron!_

He knelt in front of her, his gaze assessing everything about her. He saw the bruising from when Byer had beaten her, the blood on her wrists, the dirty, torn clothing she wore. Then, he saw the tears. Reaching up to brush her hair from her face with a gentle hand, he met her eyes. "Shh," he said softly. Glancing over his shoulder, he made certain they weren't interrupted. "I'm here now."

Marta honestly tried to stop crying. But she couldn't. It reminded her too much of that moment back in her house, when Aaron had originally saved her from the strike team sent to kill her. Only now, she knew him, loved him, and trusted him to get her out. The fingers that had so gently brushed her hair from her face now worked on the gag, removing it just in time for her to lean to the side and heave. There wasn't much to bring up—Byer hadn't exactly fed her—but he waited just the same. When she sat back, he met her eyes. "Good?"

"Yes." Marta felt him slip a knife under the bindings at her right wrist and winced when it stung. He muttered an apology, which she ignored. He was here. That was the only thing that mattered. "He gave me something," she explained as he moved from one wrist to the next. "Some sort of drug. Took a while to wear off last time."

"Symptoms?"

"Nausea, headache, sleeping." She blinked her eyes a few times. "And I think I'm concussed."

Aaron moved back around, taking her face in his hands and staring into her eyes. She knew exactly what he was looking for and let him perform his examination. "Your pupils are dilated. Put these on." He produced a pair of sunglasses. "Think you can walk?"

She steeled herself for the sudden transition in elevation as she stood up. "Yes."

"Good. Let's go." Aaron helped her to her feet, steadying her as the world spun. With one arm around her shoulders, he pulled her toward the door. Outside, several bodies littered the hallway, and she didn't need to ask if they were alive. One—the big blond guy that Byer had brought into the room when he'd interrogated her—lay beside the door with his head at an unnatural angle.

Aaron never looked at the men he'd killed, and Marta dragged her eyes away from them. Instead, she focused on putting one foot in front of the other. His arm around her shoulder was firm but kind, and he seemed to know where he was going. As they walked, he talked into the headset she suddenly realized he wore. "I've got her," he said softly. "Bourne, meet me at the rendezvous point. We'll split up and meet at the office." He paused, obviously waiting for the other person to speak. "Roger that."

It sounded just like the first time Aaron had rescued her. Marta leaned against him, trembling as the cooler air from the hallway penetrated her thin clothes and aggravated her already weakened state. Aaron glanced over at her and stopped long enough to shrug out of his leather jacket. His shirt beneath it was sweat-soaked, but he ignored it as he wrapped the jacket around Marta's shoulders. She shoved her arms into its warmth and did her best to keep up.

Her mind fogged up a little more with every step. Aaron had been in the compound for a while, and he'd brought a team with him. The first time she saw the black-suited man, she'd jumped and nearly screamed. Aaron had shushed her gently, explaining they were the good guys. The man simply motioned to Aaron so quickly she couldn't follow, and Aaron nodded in response. He led her directly for a back entrance, glancing down at her bare feet and again pausing to grab some shoes off of an unsuspecting female guard. Marta wordlessly put them on, sighing in relief at the warmth and protection they offered. Then, she squeezed her eyes shut as he led her into the bright afternoon sun.

Jason skidded to a stop in a small white car that had seen better days. Aaron led her forward as Jason leaned across to open the passenger door. Shouts from behind them told Marta that they'd been discovered, and she knew they had no time to waste.

Aaron pushed her forward. "Get in. I'll meet you. . . ."

"No!" Marta fought to stay with him. "No, please. I'll go with you."

Aaron grabbed her arms and forced her to look at him. "Marta. Get in the car."

"Please!"

"I'll meet you there, but you've gotta go _now_!"

"Aaron. . .!"

She didn't have a chance to answer him. He physically picked her up and, ignoring her weak fighting and protesting, shoved her into the front seat of the car. She scrabbled for the door handle as he quickly locked the door and closed it, tapping the roof of the car. Jason immediately floored the gas pedal, and the small car shot forward. Marta grappled with the door before realizing that it didn't have power locks. The car was too old. She turned and watched Aaron dodge a few bullets as he ran around a corner and out of her sight.

oOo

Aaron dashed around a corner, lifting one arm and ducking his head as the ground exploded with automatic weapons fire. These guys certainly weren't interested in keeping a low profile anymore. The sound of screeching tires somewhere nearby momentarily drowned out everything else, and he kept running in spite of the men chasing him. Putting Marta in the car with Jason was harder than he'd anticipated.

Relaying Marta's status to Landy, Aaron skidded to a stop next to the motorcycle he'd ridden to the compound. Revving the engine, he spun out of the hiding spot and headed in the exact opposite direction than the one Jason had taken. He heard a few cars behind him and glanced in his rear view mirror to see two sedans chasing him down the deserted street. Taking a sudden right turn at the next intersection, he whizzed forward, hunching over the handlebars in an attempt to make himself a smaller target. At these speeds, all it would take would be a bullet to a tire, and he'd be toast. He'd walked away from one motorcycle chase in his life, and he wasn't certain he wanted to do that again.

Whipping the bike around a left turn and then veering directly into the alley on his right, Aaron dodged around trash cans and stray cats that hissed and screamed at him. One car managed to make the turn, but the other sped on past. He came out of the alley in front of a startled driver who slammed on the brakes and honked. The poor guy wrenched his wheel to avoid hitting Aaron and wound up with his car sideways in the road. The sedan chasing Aaron whizzed by the guy without even slowing down.

One more block away, Aaron braked just enough to pivot the bike back to the left and dart down a busy street. Ahead of him, the sedan that had gone around the alley cut in front of him, creating several more angry drivers and causing shouts to come from those on the sidewalk. Aaron yanked the bike to the right to avoid the car, driving up over the curb and onto the sidewalk. The pedestrians cleared out of the way, and he shifted to get more speed out of the motorcycle. Shooting down the sidewalk as he heard sirens in the distance, he used a conveniently-timed red light to jump in front of the car that had tried to stop him and head down yet another busy street.

Weaving in and out of traffic, Aaron kept one eye on his rear view mirror while watching where he went with the other. Horns blared, and the sirens got closer. Then, he saw the bus. Smiling slightly, he downshifted, changed lanes, and, at the last moment, whipped the bike around the tail end of the bus to reverse his direction. Using the bus as cover, he matched its speed as the two sedans continued chasing a bike they could no longer see. Aaron turned down another side street before the drivers realized he'd vanished and slowed to a more reasonable speed. The cops sent after the car chase passed him, not once giving him a second glance as he rode by.

oOo

Jason spun out of the warehouse district with a frantic Marta in the front seat. She still faced the rear of the car, tears streaming, as Aaron disappeared around a corner. Jason didn't wait for her to buckle in or stop fighting. He simply drove. She'd calm soon enough, and he idly thanked his lucky stars he wasn't Aaron.

Three sedans followed him. Jason reached over and shoved Marta down just as a bullet shattered the rear windshield of the car. He wrenched the wheel to the left, darting down a street and flooring the gas pedal. A quick shifting of the gears helped the car go faster, and he silently thanked Aaron for choosing a standard for this mission.

Marta sat up, shaking hands reaching for a seat belt as she groaned. Jason spared her a glance and saw the pasty complexion of her skin. Byer had drugged her? Or was she just sick from worry? He couldn't know, but having her so weak complicated things even more.

Changing gears, he doubled back on his previous route, trying to lose one of his pursuers and failing. He'd hoped to fool them into thinking he'd left when he actually hadn't. Abandoning that plan, he turned the car toward the CIA office and knew he'd be able to lose his tail between here and there.

The explosion happened when they were close enough to the compound to hear the roar and see the flames. Marta gasped and cursed, a colorful phrase in Hungarian that she probably learned from Aaron, as Jason fought the urge to stare at her. In all the time he'd known Marta Shearing, she'd never been one to use such foul language. The drugs were likely making her a bit loopy and loosening her tongue.

The explosion and resulting fire would attract too much attention, and Jason found the first major thoroughfare he could. Two of the three cars that had followed him were still on his tail, one with an idiot leaning out of his window and preparing to fire. Jason reached for the gun at the small of his back and offered it to Marta. "Know how to use this?"

She accepted it. "Yeah." Swallowing convulsively as if fighting nausea, she glanced over her shoulder. "I don't think I can hit him, though."

Jason gave her a sharp glance. "Why?"

"There're two guys hanging out of the car."

It was Jason's turn to curse. Of course she'd have problems seeing. The more he watched her from the corner of his eye, the more he suspected she'd been drugged. Her hands were shaking, and her reactions were sluggish. He couldn't ask her to drive for the same reason. Taking the gun from Marta, Jason leaned to poke it out the driver's window and fired off a few rounds. His aim went wide, but it was enough to get the guy to duck back into his car.

He needed to lose this tail. Checking his rear view mirror, he spoke softly. "Close your eyes."

To her credit, Marta didn't question him. She simply closed her eyes and hunkered down in her seat. Jason floored the gas pedal, wrenching the car into a one-eighty and darting back the way he'd come. One of the sedans managed to match the maneuver, but the other flew past. Jason shifted gears one more time before dodging a bus and yanking the wheel to take a sharp right turn into an alley. Trash cans went flying, and he came out the other side a block away and headed the same direction he'd been going before the one-eighty.

Somehow, the simple maneuver lost his second tail. He kept an eye on the rear view mirror while winding through Chicago for another half hour. Once he was certain he'd lost the tail, he headed for the CIA office.

The rest of the drive was quiet save for Marta's occasional moan. Her hands shook whenever she pushed her hair from her face, and her pasty complexion didn't change. Jason wished he could reach over and offer some comfort, but he'd never been at ease with physical contact. _Not unless it was Nicky_, his mind supplied.

All through this entire operation, he'd forced himself not to think of Nicky. She was safe with Landy, watching over their operation from the security of the crisis suite. Not down in the trenches with the rest of them. It gave him the ability to concentrate without having to worry about her safety and what he would do if she was hurt. . .or worse.

That thought made him blink. He still cared for Nicky. A lot. And he intended to talk to her about it when he saw her again. Then, he shook his head. Of all the times to realize something like that, he chose the moment when he couldn't be alone. Though another glance at Marta proved she wasn't worried about his thoughts.

Jason kept his eyes on the road and drove. Aaron had trusted him, and he intended to deliver Marta safe and sound. Once they'd regrouped, then he'd take out his realization about Nicky and examine it. But not until everyone had been reunited.

oOo

On a plane somewhere over Michigan, Byer pulled out a burner phone. A simple call would shut down the Rodeo base, and his arrogance in thinking he could draw Outcome 5 to him without the CIA knowing had cost them dearly. Pressing the numbers, he waited for the other person to answer. Then, he spoke softly. "Shut down everything. Get to ground."

At least Vendel had trained his people well. Looking at the asset now sitting across from him, Byer sighed. If he'd been in charge of the operation from the very beginning, he would have anticipated the CIA's involvement. Maybe not to this extent, but he'd have prepared for the unexpected. Vendel had assured him that all bases were covered, and Byer had foolishly believed him.

Thankfully, that wouldn't happen again. The triggering phrase had changed Vendel from the semi-decent leader into a full-blown asset, providing Byer with skills he badly needed now that the CIA was on his trail. In blowing the compound, he'd killed American agents, and that would result in a manhunt. Right then, Byer needed to disappear, and he needed Vendel to do it. He would think about rebuilding and finding Cross only after he was certain he couldn't be compromised again.

~TBC


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note: **A huge thanks to everyone who's reviewing!

**Lisa:** I am so very glad you enjoyed the chapter. It was a fun one to write. Chapter 13, with the action, was written in an hour—tops—while I was supposed to be getting ready for something else. I think that actually helped keep the tension on for me, which helped the story.

As always, hope you all enjoy this chapter! ~lg

oOo

Aaron didn't get to the CIA office until after Jason and Marta. Instead, he wound his way through Chicago long enough to make certain no one could follow him. He parked the motorcycle next to the car Jason had used to spirit Marta away from Byer's compound and slowly made his way upstairs. The wind from being on the back of the bike had dried the sweat he'd worked up in infiltrating the base, and he couldn't wait to jump in a shower.

Instead, he found Landy and Jason hunched over a computer when he walked into the crisis suite. Landy straightened the moment she saw him. "Cross?"

Aaron caught her glance at his hands and shrugged off her concern over the cuts there. "I'm good."

She took him at his word and nodded to a door to her left. "Dr. Shearing's in there."

Pushing through the door, he found a small living space on the other side. Like any good CIA field office, this one had a couch where agents and analysts could crash for a couple of hours or shower if needed. Three people were in the room, two of them turning when he entered. Nicky sat on the couch near Marta's feet, the former trying to coax the latter into allowing the doctor to treat her wounds. Marta was beyond pale, her eyes closed and face pinched as she pointedly and very colorfully told Nicky "no" in several languages. Aaron grinned, knowing she only knew _those_ words in Hungarian and German because he'd taught her. It hadn't been intentional, but she'd picked them up after Johannesburg and used them only when she got really angry.

Nicky threw Aaron a very pointed glance, and he moved across the room. "Marta?"

Her eyes popped open, and she barely waited for him to crouch next to her before she climbed into his arms. Aaron held her close, feeling the shiver in her body as he nodded to Nicky. He had this. Nicky took that as her cue to leave, and Aaron managed to get himself and Marta back on the couch. His foot nudged the plastic-lined trash can that had been near her head, telling him that she still hadn't recovered.

When she didn't respond any more than to cling to him, Aaron tipped his head to see her face. "Marta? What's going on?"

"I don't. . . .I just. . . .He gave me something. A drug. . .it's. . .Everything is spinning, and. . . ." She spoke into his chest, her words not making much sense.

Aaron had known Marta long enough that he managed to interpret most of what she said. He eyed the doctor waiting, his question clear.

The doctor sighed. "We won't know what she was given until we do some blood tests. But she's been a little too panicked to let us take samples."

Aaron immediately understood. Marta had been in Byer's custody long enough to sustains several decent cuts and bruises. Not to mention the effects of whatever this drug was. He quickly brushed her hair from over her face, talking to her as he did. "Marta, you've got to let them run their tests. They're just taking blood and maybe giving you something to help with the nausea. I'm right here. Okay? I won't let anything happen."

She took several more deep breaths before nodding. The doctor settled on the other end of the couch and, with as little fuss as possible, drew several vials of blood. Aaron didn't push Marta away from him, knowing his presence was the only thing keeping her from completely losing it.

Finally, the doctor settled back. "I'll get these to the lab and get them analyzed," he said, labeling the vials with an alias already set up for Marta. "Give me a few moments, and I'll get her cuts treated."

Aaron's eyes snapped to him. "I'll take care of that, Doc."

The doctor picked up on his unspoken message. "Okay. Get her cleaned up and treated. I'll be back later with something for the symptoms." He left without further complaint.

As soon as the door closed behind the doctor, Aaron shifted to disentangle himself from Marta. She flopped back on the couch, cringing as she did so, and then let out a groan. Aaron dove for the trash can, getting it to her in time for her to try to empty her already-empty stomach. After she finished, he reached for the bottle of water on the table nearby. Marta took several sips and sighed. "I hate drugs."

Her voice lacked the conviction that statement required, which made it more humorous than it should have been. Or maybe Aaron was just tired. Either way, he managed to chuckle. "Come on," he said as he stood and helped her to her feet. "Let's get you in a shower."

Marta held on to him when she swayed. "I don't think I can stand up."

"You can." Aaron waited until she'd got her balance to lead her toward the tiny bathroom. "Any ideas what they gave you?"

"None." She blinked when he turned on the light. "Ouch."

"Headache?"

"Bad."

Aaron left her leaning against the sink and flipped on all the lights in the break room. Then, he killed the light in the bathroom, leaving the two of them with enough illumination to see but not enough to aggravate Marta's head. She'd never been prone to migraines, so seeing her so messed up shook him more than a little. He waited until he realized she wouldn't budge. "C'mon," he said again. "You need to clean up. And then sleep."

Marta nodded and didn't fight when he helped her out of his jacket. She shivered when the cool air hit her skin until Aaron wrapped a clean towel around her shoulders. He reached into the shower, turning on the water and setting its temperature before eying her. "I'll step out while you get in. Then, I'll wait here until. . . ."

"Aaron, you've already seen it all."

He frowned at her. "You need the privacy," he said simply, seeing the relief in her eyes when he did. "I'll collect up some first aid stuff and get everything bandaged when you're done. But a shower will help."

She nodded, not quite happy with his response, and he left the room. In the break room, he took a deep breath. Like she'd pointed out, he _had_ seen it before, but he wasn't in the mood to become even more angry when he saw the bruises all over her body. Right now, Marta needed to get the grime and smell of Byer's compound off of her body, and he needed to think clearly.

The doctor had left a first aid kit on the table along with a note detailing some instructions. Marta's body required food and water even if she couldn't hold anything down, and several cans of soup had been provided. Aaron kept one ear tuned to the bathroom and Marta's condition while he sorted his supplies. Then, he warmed some of the soup in the microwave, straining out the noodles and putting the broth in an insulated cup. It would stay warm for her if it took her a while to sip it.

In the bathroom, Marta finished her shower. Aaron stood just outside the door, handing her towels and waiting while she dressed. He heard her stumble once, but her quiet comment that she'd be okay kept him in place. After being in Byer's custody, she needed to do as much on her own as possible. It would help her regain her equilibrium and sense of security quicker if he didn't hover in the same room. With that thought in mind, he returned to the couch and waited.

She finally appeared wearing a set of sweats someone thoughtfully provided. She'd clumsily wrapped a towel around her wet hair, and Aaron smiled. It was a sight he'd missed for too long now, and he stood as she made her way to the couch. Pushing the insulated cup into her hands, he ordered her to drink while he looked over her wounds. Her face was a mass of bruises that would take a couple weeks to fully heal, and she had a split lip. The shower had washed the grime and tear stains from her face, giving him a decent idea of just what Byer had done. On her neck, she had several more bruises where she'd been injected with the unknown drug, and she struggled to keep her eyes open long enough to finish her soup. As a doctor, she understood the need for sustenance even if she didn't particularly like it, and Aaron fought with a smile every time she scowled at the cup as if it offended her.

His amusement faded as he treated her wounds. More bruises littered her body, both from her time in the compound and when Byer's men ran her off the road. Pushing aside the anger they caused, he reached for the first aid kit and gently bandaged her wrists and the other injuries. Then, he took her hair from the towel and carefully combed it out while she wrapped a blanket around herself.

Finally, he convinced her to lay down and rest. She continued to shiver until Aaron covered her with the blanket. He lifted her hair from her neck, ignoring her pale face and shaking hands. She was still the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

"Aaron?" Marta's soft voice came as he moved toward the bathroom to hang up the towels she'd used.

He returned to her side. "I'm right here."

"I'm sorry." She blinked up at him, her eyes filling with tears. "I was gonna tell you when I got to your house that I'm sorry. That I've been so selfish and so undeserving and. . . ."

"Shh." He crouched beside the couch, letting his grip on her hand shift as he ran his other hand down her face. "What's all this about?"

"You. . .you're always there." She met his eyes, surprisingly lucid in spite of the drug's effect on her body. Now that she'd calmed, her mind had finally started working. "And I just took that for granted and gave you just enough to keep you around. And you've never complained."

"Marta. . . ." He clamped down on his tired response. "Why don't you sleep, and we'll talk about this later?"

"No." Her tone reminded him of the first time he'd saved her life. When he'd told her they needed to clear out of her house, she'd agreed with that same low, determined voice.

Shifting to sit on the edge of the couch, he thought about his response. He had so much to say to her, but he didn't want to push her away. "Marta, I love you, and you know that. I think you've known that all along. So, if you need to live in the city, I'll take what I can get."

"You shouldn't have to." She shook her head, closing her eyes as she did so to keep from losing the bit of broth she'd managed to drink. "You shouldn't feel like you only get what's left of me when. . . ."

"I don't."

"Yes, you do." She opened her eyes and pushed herself upright. "Aaron, I can't say I love you if I don't give up what I want for what's best for us. I thought. . . ." She shifted and let herself fall back, wincing when her head hit the arm of the couch. "Byer said something while he had me, and he got me thinking. He said you were a lab rat. That I created you."

"You shouldn't believe anything he says."

"Thing is, I did!" She tightened her grip on his hand. "Before. . .before Manila, I did. And I thought I was doing the right thing. Then, we ran and everything happened and Sydney was just so wonderful and we had Johannesburg and then we came to Chicago and. . . ."

"Marta. Breathe." Aaron watched while she did so, knowing her emotions had run away with her.

She blew out a deep breath. "I thought coming here—to Chicago—was the right move. You wanted me to take the job, and I wanted to go back so badly, but. . . ." She started crying. "Now, I'm not so sure. Now, I just want you and what we had in Sydney without all the complications of running or living in two different cities."

Aaron blinked as he realized what she was saying. She was ready to fully commit. Granted, she was strung out on whatever Byer had given her, and Aaron intended to have a long talk after it wore off. But part of him latched onto her words and likely wouldn't let go. If she really wanted everything, as she said, he would hold her to it. But if she didn't. . . .He hated the thought that he might have unrealistic expectations once she managed to recover from this latest incident. It had happened after their move to Chicago, and the last thing he wanted was to have his dreams tossed out the window yet again.

Reaching up and brushing her wet hair from her face, he sighed. "Go to sleep, Marta," he said softly. "We'll talk when you wake up."

She sighed as she closed her eyes, her grip on his hand tightening. "I love you, Aaron."

He smiled at her whispered words even though she'd already drifted to sleep. He'd heard them before, in Sydney. Instead of panicking like he had back then, he took a moment to think about what might be in store for them. They'd changed in the last year. By settling into their own homes and leading separate lives, they'd learned just what the other person meant to them. It had proven to him just how badly he needed Marta in his life, and he'd been willing to settle for whatever she gave him.

That would change. Not because Marta wanted it to, but because _he_ wanted it to. He'd nearly lost her to Byer, and it had proven several things to him. But those thoughts would have to wait for a better time, when he could talk with Marta and work out what their new relationship would be. Because, like her, he wanted what they had in Sydney and more. And he'd do whatever he had to to have that again.

oOo

With Aaron there to handle Marta, Nicky returned to the crisis suite to find one very angry Landy looking over a tech's shoulder while Jason gave her a debrief of his mission. He'd fought a lot less than Aaron, but he still looked tired. Or maybe it was the headache. The sun had set, and the constant flashing of monitors in the crisis suite had to aggravate his eyes.

The main screen showed the fire at the compound. Nicky had been next to Landy when it happened. Strike Teams Alpha and Charlie had been inside, Bravo having pulled back to the perimeter to help cover Jason's escape with Marta and the intel they had downloaded. Somehow, Byer had slipped the net, aided by the compound's explosion. The man responsible for Outcome and Aaron Cross's enhancements didn't make mistakes like bringing his compound down on his own head. Simple logic told them he was long gone.

As soon as the explosion flashed across their monitors, the comms had filled with a variety of chatter. Strike Team Bravo asked for orders, Landy demanded to know what had happened, and Nicky tried to contact both Jason and Aaron. Aaron had managed a quick check-in before biting off a curse, and she'd heard tires squealing over the line. Jason took a few more moments, but he did warn them to have a doctor ready when he got back to base.

The initial excitement had faded, leaving behind some furious and grief-stricken CIA analysts and operatives. Nicky saw the same anger reflected in Jason's eyes, but he had shut down. Right then, Landy needed him calm and thinking clearly, not rattled like everyone else. Byer had made a huge mistake in trying to draw Outcome 5 to him, and it showed in the burning husk of the building on the screen.

One of the analysts turned to Landy. "Our teams are on the scene."

"What's our cover?"

"Department of Homeland Security." The tech knew as well as anyone there that the DHS was an umbrella organization for all of the alphabet agencies. It came in handy, however, in incidents such as this. "We've been given access to the scene, and all information is being routed through here."

Landy nodded. "Good. Keep me posted." She moved to another tech. "Where are we with that information?"

The poor guy had been tasked with downloading the flash drive that Jason had filled with Byer's files. Not all of them were there as the compound had only been an "outpost," but enough intel had made its way into the CIA's hands to put a real crimp in Byer's organization. The tech now shrugged. "There's a lot of stuff here," he said helplessly. "It's going to take time to sort through."

Landy put a hand on his shoulder. "Take your time. We don't want to miss something important." She turned to Jason. "Any idea where Byer would go?"

"No." Jason met her eyes. "Cross knows him better than we do."

Landy received his message loud and clear. She turned back to watching the fire that had claimed two of her teams and left Nicky and Jason to their thoughts.

Nicky retreated to a chair, her eyes morbidly drawn back to the flickering screen. Jason stayed with the analysts looking over the information he'd retrieved, giving Nicky the time she needed to cope. Everything had happened so fast in the last day that she hadn't fully handled being back in contact with the CIA. She'd been thrown into the operation to infiltrate Byer's compound, and she hadn't given it a single thought. Now, however, it remained forefront in her mind.

She was in the same room as the agency that had tried multiple times to kill her. Nicky's eyes followed Landy as the older woman paced around the room. She had so many conflicting memories of her time with the CIA. The agency had brought her and Jason together, but it had also taken Jason from her. It had killed the woman Jason loved, and it had resulted in years spent on the run as Nicky just tried to stay alive. When Jason first appeared in Seattle not three months ago, she'd been completely unwilling to even take the CIA's offered payout.

But coming to Chicago had changed everything. She'd finally taken the money and put it in an account while she decided what to do with it. In her mind, it was too little, too late. She knew Jason agreed with her, but they'd never discussed it. Instead, she'd let herself get caught up in Aaron and Marta's lives, her work at the coffee shop, and her own issues that seemed childish now that Byer had made his presence known.

Jason startled her from her thoughts as he sat down beside her. "You okay?"

Nicky shrugged. "I never wanted to come back," she said softly and honestly. "But, here I am."

He nodded. "You did good today."

Nicky rolled her eyes, but Aaron reappeared before she could comment. She stood and joined Landy as he nodded tiredly. "Marta's sleeping, but she's not good. The drug Byer gave her did a real number."

"We'll keep an eye on her," Landy promised. "She can stay here or in one of our safe houses until she's back on her feet."

Aaron met Landy's eyes. "I'm not leaving her."

"I'm not asking you to." Landy didn't shy away from the ferocity in Aaron's gaze. "I'm offering the help of the agency while we figure out the next step."

Aaron frowned and glanced at Jason, who nodded. The message was clear. Jason trusted Landy, and Aaron trusted Jason. The Outcome agent sighed. "Okay," he agreed. "Where are we?"

Like the flip of a switch, Jason and Aaron returned to work, leaving Nicky to her thoughts. She watched the two men gather around the tech, almost snickering when the poor guy gave first Jason and then Aaron a wary glance. Seeing they didn't need her at the moment, she quietly slipped into the break room to check on her friend. Marta slept soundly on the couch, her drying hair fanned out on the pillow behind her. A bucket waited for the next bout with nausea, and Nicky saw the bandages around her wrists.

This was what Byer had done to her friends. And the CIA, no matter their dubious history with Jason and Nicky, had gotten her out. If for no other reason, Nicky decided she'd do whatever she could to help Landy bring Byer down.

oOo

Pamela Landy had never been a careless woman. Everything she did in the CIA had a purpose, even if it had landed her in front of a Senate hearing and under investigation for leaking classified documents to the press. Some of her actions could have been viewed as mistakes, but her strong sense of right and wrong had never truly failed her. She might have been deceived at times, thinking that Bourne was a threat when the true threat stemmed from within her organization, but she worked to never violate that innate morality.

Now, she watched Bourne and Cross settle behind computers and begin sorting through the intel they'd risked their lives to get. Both men were tired, and Landy could see the toll Marta's captivity had taken on Cross. She'd managed to get to know that pair a bit during their take-down of NRAG and its programs, and she'd always been impressed with Cross's devotion to his doctor. Those two shared a very special relationship, one forged on the run and strong enough to get through this latest crisis.

Bourne, however, had changed since Cross brought him home. Landy could see the subtle differences between the man she'd led to Treadstone's training facility and the one sitting in her crisis suite. He was softer, less wary, and definitely more open toward Nicky. Landy shook her head at the irony of it all. Somehow, those two had managed to survive insurmountable odds and still came out able to care for those around them.

Tom Cronin, her assistant, wandered over to the pair and shared a quiet conversation. Landy let the men work. Right then, her focus could not narrow solely to the information Jason had risked his life to get. She also needed to keep an eye on the fire and figure out how her teams had been killed. The anger that burned in her reminded her of the moment she learned just how depraved Noah Vosen really was. Treadstone and Blackbriar had nearly destroyed her, and she had just as much of a need to bring Byer down as Bourne or Cross. Those two were involved personally, but Landy's need came from years of secrets and betrayals that nearly cost her her sanity.

"Pam." Tom's soft voice drew her attention back to the four men hunched over computers. She turned as he motioned for her. "We have something."

Cross sat back in his chair, a serious expression on his face. "Byer's got an asset with him. Not the one who's been watching Nicky and Marta. I killed him. Someone else, someone scarier."

Landy pulled up a chair. "Walk me through it."

Cross met her eyes. "Remember LARX? Remember how tough they were to take down?"

"Yes." She hated thinking about what NRAG and Byer's work had done to those people. By the time they'd been turned loose on the world, they'd been reduced to mere automatons, living only for the mission. Once triggered, they acted and didn't stop until they or their targets had been killed. Any and all emotion had been bred out of them, and the one attempt to deprogram a LARX agent had resulted in catatonia, coma, and death.

Now, Cross shook his head. "I don't know how Byer did it, but he managed to make _Vendel_ into one of these agents. Difference is there's a triggering phrase. Until that phrase is spoken, Vendel is himself. Once it's spoken, he becomes LARX, Treadstone, and Outcome all rolled into one."

Landy blinked. "What's the phrase?"

"I don't know." Cross glanced at Jason. "The files don't tell us what it is, but. . . ." He paused, taking a moment to mull over what he had to say. "If Byer sends him after us, he's going to be next to impossible to take down."

Landy held up a hand. "Okay, let's think this through logically. Byer set a trap for _you_." She pointed at Cross. "Instead, he got all of us," she continued, including the room in her statement. "That was a gross miscalculation in his plan. Now, he's lost the leverage over you that he'd gained by kidnapping Dr. Shearing, he's lost his compound, and he's lost vital information. We can pretty much guarantee any base of operation listed in these files will be cleared out by the time we get there, and we have no idea where he'd go."

Cross agreed with a nod. "And we've got the added complication of Vendel. If Byer's on the run, he'll take Vendel with him for protection. Only when he thinks he's untouchable will he send Vendel out. So, we've got a window of opportunity." He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees as he pressed his thumbs against his eyebrows, a sure sign of a headache. "In Byer's mind, he's a patriot," he said quietly. "By blowing that compound, he took American lives. He _knows_ you'll be after him, so he's not going to make it easy to find him."

Tom glanced between Landy and Cross. "What about his people? The file lists names of people that Byer recruited while in prison. What if we use them?"

Cross nodded again. "That's my suggestion. These guys are low-level analysts and technicians. One of them is bound to make a mistake."

Landy smiled at that. "And, when they make a mistake, we move in."

"Yeah." Cross sat back in his chair, slapping his knees as he did so.

Landy's smile widened. She had an advantage. She had the only two men to ever outsmart an international manhunt of epic proportions sitting in her crisis suite. And both of them were willing to assist her. She turned as Nicky Parsons slipped out of the break room and made a decision that was completely in her purview. "Bourne, Parsons, you've just been reactivated as CIA operatives. Cross?" She smirked as he blinked tiredly at her. "Welcome to the CIA."

oOo

Somewhere north of the international crossing at Sault Ste. Marie, Ric Byer unlocked a rundown shack and made his way inside. The flight from Chicago to the border had been short and stressful. Vendel kept watch carefully, and, once on the ground, naturally took over security. It allowed Byer to consider his next move.

He needed to lay low, and going north allowed him to do that. The area above Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario, was sparsely populated with plenty of abandoned homes in which he could rebuild. The shut-down protocol for the Rodeo base had included bringing his operatives here after two weeks. In that time, he would have a foolproof way to pin the explosion on Bourne and Cross and shift the blame. By making the two assets the criminals, he would be able to return to his work for NRAG _and_ bring down his nemesis.

Aaron Cross. The name had once been one that Byer cherished in a twisted, fatherly sort of way. Cross had been his crowning achievement until Vendel, and the Outcome agent had proven his worth time and again. But Cross had always been a free thinker, and Byer's best efforts to control that had failed. It hadn't surprised him that Cross had survived the initial hit in Alaska. Or that he'd escaped Manila. What _had_ surprised him was Cross's move to trust the CIA. That had to have been brought on by Bourne's connection to Landy.

Which Byer could use. He just needed time to work everything out in his head. Time to let the raging anger at his own arrogance and failure settle and his mind to think tactically. Until that happened, he was dependent on Vendel to keep him safe. While he'd created Vendel partially for that purpose, he still hated the thought of relying on someone else. It smacked of weakness, and Ric Byer had never been a weak man. He intended to demonstrate his strength once and for all. As much as he wanted to use Marta Shearing and Nicky Parsons to do that, he knew they were untouchable and in CIA custody. No, he'd have to settle for a good old-fashioned manhunt as soon as he rebuilt his base the way he wanted it.

Byer smiled at the thought. It was only a matter of time, and he would show the world just what men like Bourne and Cross were capable of. And, in doing so, he'd prove how much of a patriot he truly was.

~TBC


	15. Chapter 15

**Guest: **Thank you! This was a story that got really complicated, but it was bound to with being based on the Bourne films. I'm glad you're enjoying the direction the story went!

**Lisa:** I am so glad you're enjoying the story! Byer will get what's coming to him...eventually.

oOo

It took a week for that drug to clear Marta's system. The day after her rescue, the nausea let off and was replaced with a raging migraine. Aaron, who had spent the night going over the information Jason pulled from Byer's computer, kept a close eye on her throughout the day. As did Landy, Jason, Nicky, and a number of other analysts and agents in Chicago's CIA office. Without trying, Marta had become something of a mascot, the woman who had helped create Outcome 5 and then brought down the organization that hunted him. It made Aaron smile whenever someone neither of them knew offered a small kindness in the form of a cup of coffee or bowl of soup.

When Aaron found Marta curled on the bathroom floor early the third day, shivering and sweating in spite of the cold tile, he drew the line. Overriding her desire to stay close to him, he called Landy's doctor and arranged for her to be transported to the most secure hospital in Chicago. Tom Cronin arranged her security, and Aaron divided his time between the CIA office and Marta's hospital bed. The tox screen on Marta's blood came back showing a very, very potent sedative, and the files the analysts had managed to unravel explained why Marta had such a horrible reaction. The sedative was designed to take down a LARX or Outcome agent, not a normal human. By giving Marta repeat doses, Byer had, in essence, made her an addict and sent her into withdrawals. When he saw the reports, Aaron's fist clenched around the paper as he fought the urge to punch anything close by. Even though he'd gone to ground, Byer was still toying with them using Marta and her health.

During that week, Jason and Nicky spent most of their free hours at the CIA office, freeing Aaron to do things like touching base with Manuel and Bobby. His employees had continued the process of restoring the house they'd started before all of the chaos broke out, and they'd covered admirably for him by telling the owner that Aaron had had a family emergency and was called out of town. He walked onto the job site late the day after Marta was admitted to the hospital, pleased to see progress on the house. Manuel and Bobby welcomed him back, both of them asking where he'd disappeared to. Aaron simply smiled and changed the subject, making Manuel his crew foreman and letting the men know he might disappear again soon if the "family emergency" didn't work out. In reality, he hoped it did, but they'd given him the perfect cover.

Landy understood that Aaron and Jason had a life outside of the CIA that they needed to pick up, especially since it would lull Byer into a false sense of security. She never complained much about what they did on their own time, and they tried to accommodate her as much as possible. Jason and Nicky spent hours at the CIA office. Aaron watched the pair with amusement, wondering just how long they'd dance around the subject before one or the other made a move.

Finally, Marta recovered enough to be sent home. Her skin had returned to a healthier tone, the light no longer caused severe migraines, and she'd regained her appetite. She'd lost weight, though, and Aaron could clearly see the bruising that had blossomed in the intervening week. The day he picked her up from the hospital, he shook Tom Cronin's hand and thanked him for keeping such a close eye on her. Marta insisted on walking out to his truck, and she sighed as the late summer sun hit her face.

Aaron grinned. "Feel better?"

"Yes." She eyed him as he pulled out of the hospital parking lot. "Where are we going?"

"For now? Your apartment." He glanced at her. "Jason and Nicky have been using it as a crash pad, and it's close enough to the office to allow us to get away if we need to."

"Tom told me you'd been hired." During her hospital stay, Marta had become decent friends with Cronin.

"Yeah." Aaron drew out the word. "Marta, Landy wants to hire you as an analyst, as well. The knowledge you have from Outcome would be valuable right now."

"Do I have a choice?"

He nodded. "I think it's a good idea, but yes, you do."

A smile touched her lips, one he hadn't seen in way too long. "Then I don't have to choose right now."

They stayed silent the rest of the drive to her apartment, but Marta reached across the space between them and took his hand. Aaron sent another smile her way as he resisted the urge to kiss her fingers. There were so many things he wanted to say to her, so much they needed to discuss, and so little time. At any moment, one of Byer's employees could slip up, and he'd be gone. Marta didn't need that concern right now, and he resolved to keep the rest of the evening light and stress-free.

At her apartment, he slipped inside and dropped his keys on the counter near the door. Marta immediately crossed the room, opening the windows and letting the early evening light illuminate the hard wood floors and add life to the room. She finished gathering the curtains into pretty puddles on the floor and just stood there, smiling as she looked over Lake Michigan. Aaron understood. Before her kidnapping, she'd been a virtual prisoner in her own home. It had to feel good to enjoy the sun on her face, see her living room light up with the colors of sunset, and know that _no one_ was watching her.

She turned to look at him over her shoulder and caught his smile. "What?"

"Nothing." Aaron reached for the fridge. "Go get cleaned up. I'll make dinner."

She agreed with a nod and headed for her bedroom. A few moments later, he heard the water start and set about making homemade chicken soup. She'd lost so much weight during her hospital stay, and her system still couldn't handle a lot of rich foods. But he wanted to see that healthy glow come back to her face, and it started with decent food. Besides, he could put the soup in the crock pot once the chicken had been cooked and let it simmer for when Jason and Nicky returned.

As he worked, his mind kept him entertained. The sound of the water in the other room also did a number on him, and he pushed away thoughts of Marta in the shower. He needed to be thinking clearly right then, not with his desires. After he'd gotten Marta to safety, she'd said things to him that he honestly doubted. He didn't doubt her intentions at the moment, but he wondered just how much of it she truly remembered. How did he broach the subject that she'd more or less told him she loved him and wanted to build a life with him? At the time, he'd forced himself to think logically. She'd been high as a kite, suffering from severe withdrawal symptoms and the trauma of her captivity. But every time he'd left her at the hospital, she'd uttered the same four words. _I love you, Aaron._ Almost as if she was trying to reinforce her initial declaration.

With the chicken sauteed, Aaron picked up a knife and started chopping vegetables. He prepared the broth in the crock pot, turning it on low and letting it heat up while he finished with the chicken. Then, he added the meat and stirred it. He'd have to wait and see what Marta said. But he knew they needed to talk that night. And it would be an interesting conversation if he had anything to say about it.

oOo

Marta took her time in the shower, reveling in the feel of the hot water as it washed away the residual smell of the hospital. For someone who had worked in such a sterile environment for most of her professional career, she hated hospitals. They just never smelled right. Besides, the lingering weakness of her ordeal made the entire memory something she'd rather just forget.

But she needed to get her thoughts together before facing Aaron again. She knew what she wanted, and she knew he'd give it just because she asked. But this was about more than a physical release. She craved the same relationship they'd had in Sydney, Australia, and Johannesburg, South Africa. Back then, she and Aaron had been in tune with one another's needs, knowing just when to speak or to keep quiet. They'd been able to read each other so well, and the intimacy of it went beyond any physical relationship. _That_ was what Marta wanted more than anything.

Not coming to any conclusions, Marta turned off the water and took her time dressing. She dried her hair until it shone in the light, the sun having set while she bathed. Then, pulling on comfortable jeans and a fitted t-shirt, she returned to the kitchen.

Aaron stood over a crock pot, stirring soup that smelled incredible even if it wouldn't be ready for another hour. He made it for her every time she got sick, and it always brought a smile to her face. The old cliché about chicken soup was accurate for Marta. Nothing worked better.

Aaron turned and found her staring at him. "Hey."

"Hi." She moved into the kitchen, reaching for a glass and drawing some water. "Thanks for coming to get me from the hospital."

He frowned at her. "No problem."

After an awkward moment, she set the glass down. "Aaron, about what I said at the office."

This time, he put the spoon he'd used to stir the soup on the counter and replaced the crock pot's lid. Crossing the kitchen, he leaned against the counter next to her, putting his left hand close to her hip. "Yeah?"

"I meant it." She met his eyes, not looking away and doing her best not to hide anything. "I remember every word I said, and I meant it. I'm sorry for the way I've treated you in the past—the recent past. And I want to have more with you. I really do want for you to be the priority in my life, and I'm ready to make the changes."

"Marta, I appreciate that." He shook his head. "If I even thought it was a good idea right now, I'd take you up on that offer."

"But. . .?"

"Byer's still out there."

"And he's not bothering us right now." Marta tipped her head to one side, smiling again. "Remember when I wanted to be lost? Byer was still out there, then. What changed?"

He lowered his eyes, thinking. "I almost lost you this time."

"But you didn't."

He blinked at her. "Marta. . . ."

She finally had enough of his objections. Closing the distance between them, she kissed him softly, feeling him respond within seconds. His hand came up to her hair, burying his fingers in it as he returned the kiss that was both gentle and so full of meaning. When he pulled back, she smiled at him. "You think too much."

A different light came into his eyes. "Is that so?" He kept his left hand on the counter but turned to face her, planting his right hand on the other side of her body and effectively trapping her inside his arms. It was a familiar position to Marta, one she hadn't enjoyed for way too long. Before she could answer, Aaron kissed her again, this time tugging her closer to him and letting some of his desperation escape. She knew what came next, and she felt her body shifting to answer his unspoken call. When he pulled back, his eyes were dark, and Marta smiled at his whispered words. "I love you."

It was just like Sydney, only better. Back then, he'd apologized for panicking at her declaration of love, whispering into the breath they'd shared after an equally intense kiss. This time. . . .This time, he didn't hesitate or panic or anything else besides make her smile widen and her heart beat a little faster. Slipping her hands across his shoulders, she pushed his leather jacket back, letting it fall as he caught it. He kissed her again as he tossed the jacket onto the counter, and then he took her hand and tugged her toward the bedroom. It may not have been the exact reunion he'd had in mind, but it worked for Marta. And, as far as either of them were concerned, it was perfect.

oOo

Late that night, Jason unlocked the door to Marta's apartment and stepped quietly inside. Nicky was behind him, exhausted from yet another day at the CIA. Marta had recovered well, and Aaron had promised Landy that he'd speak to her about the job offer. Jason didn't know what Marta would say, but he hoped she'd accept. It gave Aaron the sense of security he needed, keeping Marta safe while allowing him to track Byer.

An under-the-cabinet light brightened a spot in the kitchen, and Jason spied the note. He picked it up and showed it to Nicky. _Dinner in the crock pot._ Marta's handwriting was as firm as ever, but Jason wasn't all that hungry. Besides, the state of the kitchen struck him and made him smile.

Aaron's leather jacket had been tossed onto a counter, looking for all the world as if someone had shed it and simply forgot it. There were dirty dishes in the sink—something Aaron rarely left—and two wine glasses beside it. A quick glance into the living room proved that Aaron wasn't sleeping in there, and Jason glanced at Nicky. She'd seen the signs as well, based on the way her eyes sparkled and she tried to hide a grin, and Jason unashamedly followed her into her room. Closing the door behind them, he flipped on the light and tried to form a sentence.

Aaron and Marta had been headed for this reunion for a lot longer than just the last week. Jason had seen it some time ago, hence his decision to remodel the guest house. But he'd not anticipated living in the _same_ apartment as the couple when it happened. It left him uncomfortably aware of his own thoughts about Nicky during this past week of watching Aaron balance caring for Marta with the CIA.

Nicky snickered. "Talk about awkward," she said softly.

"Yeah." He stared at her, the uncertainty on her face balanced by the mischievous gleam in her eyes.

Over the week, his mind had repeatedly returned to his relationship with Nicky. The evening she'd spent at his home, telling him things about their shared past, had helped him see her in another light. She was no longer a mysterious part of his life who refused to give him answers he needed. She'd become. . .more. The intrigue that he'd felt then stirred other emotions long buried but freshly remembered.

He had loved her. Though he couldn't say he did now, he wanted to see her happy again. He still cared, perhaps enough to let it blossom back into love, but he had so much to overcome. Treadstone hadn't come close to touching what Jason struggled with now, and he knew Nicky would forever have the memory of Marie hanging over her head. His girlfriend's death remained a sore spot for him, especially when he realized that it had been done to draw him out of hiding. Could he put Nicky in that same position? Just look at what loving Marta had done for Aaron. It made her a pawn for Byer to use.

Then, Jason blinked. He'd never taken the time to truly think about what Aaron and Marta shared, preferring to relegate it to the other man's life and just lump the pair of them together. But it suddenly became a huge epiphany for Jason.

Aaron loved Marta so deeply that she'd never questioned whether or not he would come for her. She just knew he would. No matter what he'd faced, Aaron had been there to get her out, to save her life, and to protect her. That level of trust went deep, and it wasn't earned or even deserved in some cases. Aaron _gave_ that kind of love to Marta, and she trusted it.

Could he ever love Nicky like that? He wanted to. Jason continued to stare at Nicky as he asked those questions of himself. Could he and Nicky share the same relationship that Aaron and Marta had? Of course, they'd be different because their shared history was different, but the trust and respect. . . .That was what Jason wanted.

oOo

Nicky frowned as he continued to stare at her. "Jason?"

His gaze never left her face. "Nicky, do you ever wonder if we could have what we did in Paris?"

She blinked. She'd not expected that question to _ever_ come out of Jason's mouth. "I try not to because. . . ."

"What if we could?" he interrupted. "What if I made it something worth thinking about?"

She stared, her mouth open as if to respond. Nothing came to mind. Jason had always communicated through silence and actions, not words. And after their recent conversations, she'd resigned herself to never sharing what they'd had in Paris.

Finally, she pulled herself together. "Jason, what—why are you asking this?"

He walked to the window and sighed. "Them," he said so quietly she had to strain to hear him as he nodded toward the other end of the house where Aaron and Marta now slept. "What they have. She _never_ doubted he'd come for her, and it made me wonder if we had that."

Nicky relaxed slightly as she finally understood why Jason had asked the question. She perched on the edge of her bed. "I try not to think about it," she said honestly. "You're different now, and it's not fair to hold you to something that you aren't. Besides, I think I'm different, too. And. . . ." She sighed. "It's not that I don't want it, Jason, but I understand that life changed us. You met Marie, and I stayed with Treadstone. I helped hunt you in Berlin, and you lost Marie. Our lives are what they are, and we can't change that."

"But we can change the future." He held her gaze, not letting her look away. "I've been thinking. I care about you, Nicky. And I want to feel the same way about you that Aaron does about Marta. But that takes time, and we haven't exactly used what we had the way we should have."

Nicky dropped her eyes to her hands, which had started shaking. To cover that he'd flustered her, she jumped to her feet and paced a few steps away. Why did she have to react like this to him? He was part of her past, just a friend now who suddenly wanted to be so much more. But could she let him in? Could she risk letting him hurt her again? "Jason. . . ."

He was there when she turned around, having moved across the floor so silently she never heard him. Before she could think or react, he'd slipped one hand along her face and pulled her in for a kiss. This time, however, he was gentle and hesitant, almost asking for her permission. And Nicky couldn't stop him. She melted against him and found herself returning the kiss with the same growing desperation as last time. Only it was different. The passion and fervor were there, but not the anger. Her hands curled into his shirt, and she let herself simply feel.

All too soon, Jason pulled away. He was just as breathless as she was, and he had both his hands in her hair. Not that Nicky cared. She let out a deep breath as he pressed their foreheads together. Her knees shook, and she smoothed his shirt over his shoulders just for something to do so she wouldn't drag him to the bed and finish what he'd started. It wasn't the time. Besides, that first kiss was followed by several shorter ones, just enough to show her that she wasn't the only person struggling to balance her desires with reality.

Jason picked up on her thoughts and pulled back so she could get some air. His eyes were dilated, like hers, and he smirked. "You don't wanna do that," he said when she glanced yet again at the bed.

"I think I do," Nicky replied, grabbing his belt loops to drag him across the room.

He moved his hands from her hips, where they'd been pulling her closer, to her shoulders. He used his superior strength to stop her from what she'd been about to do. "Think about it. Cross has been 'enhanced.' _All_ of his senses were enhanced. Even if he's on the other side of this apartment, he can probably hear every word we say. And even if he can't, do you really want to take the chance?"

Nicky gulped. Jason wasn't putting a stop to this because he didn't want what she'd offered. He simply had more information on their friends and knew she would be thoroughly embarrassed if Aaron overheard them. She glanced at the door and then back to him. "You're sure? A—about Aaron, I mean."

Jason laughed, the first time she'd heard him laugh like that since Paris. It made her smile. "I'm sure," he said. He leaned forward, lowering his voice to whisper in her ear. "When this is over, we'll find somewhere far enough away he can't hear or see or anything, okay?"

Nicky nodded, but the mood had been sufficiently destroyed. Not that she wouldn't have given in to her desires had Jason indicated he wanted more. But the few moments to think about Aaron's hearing and Marta's need for rest had tempered her emotions and reminded her that this was bigger than simply reuniting with Jason. She met his eyes. "I'll hold you to that," she said.

"Good."

She frowned at the way their bodies were still too close together. "I think I'll go. . .uh. . .clean up." She slipped out of Jason's arms and left the room. Just before she closed the door, she glanced back and saw him running his hand through his hair with a frustrated expression on his face. She recognized it. Before he lost his memory, he used to do that when either of them were called away by Conklin. Realizing he was as irritated as she was, she quietly slipped into the bathroom and took a shower. Not lingering since she knew Jason also wanted to clean up before bed, she stood in her room and awkwardly faced him. He had no qualms about what had happened, however, and took the time to kiss her properly before whispering good night.

oOo

Aaron heard the front door to Marta's apartment open and instantly woke. A few seconds of listening told him that Jason and Nicky had returned from their rather long day at the CIA office. Relaxing again, he smiled.

He was lying on his side, his right arm across Marta's waist as she slept on her back. Out of instinct, he'd snuggled his face into the curve between her neck and her shoulder, a position both familiar and instinctive. They'd slept like this almost every night when they'd been on the run. It kept Marta close to him so he could relax and know she was safe, and it helped her feel protected.

A smile touched his lips as he thought about the evening. After their first, almost frantic, reunion, they'd shared dinner and talked openly about what they wanted for the future. Both of them agreed that the house in Arlington Heights fit the bill, as Aaron had hoped it would, and he spent the rest of the evening demonstrating just how much he really did love her.

A sound from the other end of the apartment caught his ear, and he blinked. He'd learned how to filter out voices, his hearing being as sensitive as it was. But he knew _those_ sounds, the shifts in breathing and the way the voices suddenly stopped talking. Blinking at the ceiling, he waited, hoping that Jason put two and two together. He had no problems admitting that he and Marta had been intimate the night before, but they'd been _alone_ in the house. Jason and Nicky were bound to discover the change in their relationship sooner rather than later. But to actually _hear_ those two. . . .

"You don't wanna do that." Jason's soft warning made Aaron sigh with relief.

Nicky's voice was just as low and husky. "I think I do."

After a moment, Jason spoke again. "Think about it. Cross has been 'enhanced.' _All_ of his senses were enhanced. Even if he's on the other side of this place, he can probably hear every word we say. And even if he can't, do you really want to take the chance?"

"You're sure?" Nicky asked. "A—about Aaron, I mean."

Jason chuckled. "I'm sure." The pair fell silent again, and a door opened a few moments later. As the shower came on, Aaron relaxed back into his pillow and let out another sigh.

Marta shifted next to him, having been awakened when he tensed up. "Aaron?" she asked in a warm, sleepy voice.

He kissed her forehead. "Go back to sleep." He tightened his hold on her. "I'm right here."

She sighed deeply as she relaxed back into sleep, and Aaron smiled. Even with Byer on the loose, he couldn't bring himself to worry just then. He had Marta, and they had plans for the future. This time, he doubted she'd back out of their agreement as she had when they'd settled in Chicago. Too much had changed, and those changes had been for the better.

~TBC


	16. Chapter 16

**Guest: **I agree that Jeremy Renner and Rachel Weisz have such good chemistry. That's one reason I don't ever see Aaron or Marta with anyone else. I also loved how subtly they played it in the movie. You never really see a kiss or anything like that, but it's there.

**Lisa:** LOL! "Except maybe Byer." That got both me and my husband laughing! I'm glad you're enjoying the story!

As always, hope everyone enjoys this chapter!

oOo

Aaron woke early the next morning, blinking as the sun peeked over the horizon. Marta slept on, however, having shifted in her sleep so that she now faced him. He carefully slipped out of bed, leaning over her when she mumbled in her sleep. "Shh. . .I'll make breakfast."

A smile touched her lips before she burrowed back under the blankets and drifted off again. Aaron watched her sleep for a few seconds before heading into the bathroom. He showered and dressed in less than twenty minutes, taking that time to think about this latest development.

He could not be happier with his relationship to Marta than he was at this moment. He'd missed waking to feel her presence near him, knowing she was safe and happy. It went beyond the physical and into something deeper than he even knew how to explain. He loved Marta, but it was more than that. He loved her so much that he trusted her with his secrets and weakest moments. At first, in Manila, it had been necessary as she was the only person who could help him viral off the chems. Now, it was choice. He'd known how deep his emotions went, but seeing that same trust reflected back in her eyes last night. . . .He hadn't quite known how to respond, and _I love you_ seemed inadequate. But it was all he had, so he gave it.

Now, pushing those thoughts from his mind, he left Marta sleeping and found Jason in the kitchen, pulling breakfast foods from the fridge. Both men had become accustomed to a lot more than just cereal and coffee in the mornings, and one or the other of them typically cooked. For Aaron, it was a biological need. His metabolism had been enhanced along with everything else, and he usually ate twice what most others did.

Now, Jason glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. "How's Marta?"

"She's good." Aaron stared out the windows that Jason had obviously opened when he woke. "Still tired, but that'll probably linger for a while. The doc said that drug was pretty nasty and might have some side effects crop up when we least expect it."

Jason nodded and went back to cooking. Nicky stumbled into the area shortly after Aaron started coffee, and the two men smirked as she made a beeline for the coffee pot and waited for it to finish. She'd never been a morning person, and Aaron hadn't commented when she'd stayed at his place. He didn't comment now, choosing to leave Jason to breakfast while he moved to the windows and looked out.

Marta finally made an appearance just as Jason finished the scrambled eggs. Nicky buttered toast, and Aaron set the table. It felt very domestic and normal and something he'd want to do with family and friends more often. The group settled, each of them having filled their plates with what they wanted, and Aaron watched Marta try her best to eat a decent serving of eggs and toast. She finished the toast, along with a glass of orange juice, but she left half of her eggs. It was an improvement, and he was happy to see it.

Finally, the conversation turned to the CIA and their new jobs. Marta asked both Nicky and Jason what they thought about the offer, getting conflicting responses. Nicky wasn't certain about the CIA or about working with the agency again while Jason was okay with it. When Marta turned her attention to Aaron, he shrugged. "It's a means to an end. Right now, we need the resources to bring Byer down, and Landy's offering them. After that. . . ." He shook his head. "I don't know, but I won't give up the restoration business."

Marta frowned. "What do we know about Byer?"

Jason pushed his plate to the side, leaning his elbows on the table. "He's gone to ground, obviously. We believe he's triggered Vendel."

"Wait." Marta held up a hand. "Triggered?"

"Yeah." Aaron nodded. "Marta, Vendel's an asset. Like LARX. Only difference is that he can be switched on and off using a trigger phrase."

Her eyes widened. "Like Donald Foite?"

Nicky blinked. "Who's Donald Foite?"

Aaron sighed. "Donald Foite was the scientist Byer used to kill everyone except Marta at Sterisyn-Morlanta when he shut down Outcome. Foite was somehow brainwashed to commit murder-suicide in an attempt to eliminate anyone who knew anything about the program."

Marta shook her head. "I haven't thought about that in. . .months. There _has_ to be a reason why Foite did what he did. I mean, he was just fine the day before. Someone doesn't _do_ that, not someone like Foite. He was a doctor, interested in completing his cortex study, and he seemed happy about it. If there was a trigger—a particular noise or phrase designed to set him off—it would definitely explain the change in tactics and character."

Aaron couldn't help the slow grin crossed his face. "That's why Landy wants you on her team. You understand this stuff better than anyone else."

She stared at him, blinking as she realized she did have something to offer the CIA. After a few moments, she nodded. "I'll talk to Landy," she said. "But I make no promises. About working for them, I mean."

"I knew what you meant." Aaron realized after he murmured the comment that the two of them had drifted off topic and into personal issues. Nicky cleared her throat and started taking dirty dishes to the kitchen while Marta joined her friend. Jason just rolled his eyes and shook his head, finishing up his coffee.

Within the hour, the four of them headed for the CIA office. Once there, Aaron forced himself to shut down his "romantic side," as Marta had called it years ago in Johannesburg, and focused on his job. Marta knocked on Landy's door, and the two women spent a long time discussing the particulars of Marta's work for the CIA. When they reappeared, Marta nodded to Aaron, letting him know she'd accepted the job offer. She followed Landy to a group assigned to tear apart the files on Vendel, and Landy walked away a few moments later after putting Marta in charge of figuring out exactly what had been done to Vendel.

Turning back to his own file, which focused on the hierarchy of Byer's organization, Aaron buried a grin. With Marta working to figure out what had been done to Vendel, Nicky analyzing Byer's state of mind and trying to find his weakness, and Jason helping him locate the one weak link in Byer's organization, they stood a good chance of ending this soon. It just took the right time and the right person.

oOo

That right time and right person didn't make themselves known for another week. In that time, Nicky made a decision. No matter if she continued her work for the CIA after this latest incident, she knew she couldn't go back to the coffee shop. She had grown beyond that point, though she would probably always hold a soft spot for the barista who made her coffee. The night she made the decision, she curled into one of Marta's couches, watching her friends flirting and wondering when she and Jason would be that open. They'd had several late-night conversations in the workout room of the apartment building, giving Aaron and Marta enough time to do whatever they wanted to do. Those conversations had lengthened each time they happened, and she realized Jason had made an attempt to be more open with her. In response, she tried not to push him to talk. He just seemed to gravitate toward conversations.

Marta's face brightened. "You could open your own coffee shop," she said, bringing Nicky's attention back to the current topic of conversation.

Jason, much to everyone's surprise, grinned and nudged her foot. "That's an idea."

Nicky rolled her eyes. "You just want free coffee."

From his spot behind Marta, Aaron shrugged as he rubbed Marta's shoulders. "What guy wouldn't want free coffee?" When Marta glared up at him, he blinked. "What? It's _free coffee_."

Nicky laughed at the idea, but it lodged in her head. She _could_ open a coffee shop of her own. Since she'd accepted the CIA's money, she'd barely touched it, so she had plenty of investment capital. Plus, a coffee shop had potential to be useful for all kinds of things, and Nicky's experiences with the CIA told her not to discount the idea.

As Aaron and Marta continued to bicker over free coffee, Nicky readied for work. Jason jumped up to walk her out as Marta laughed at something Aaron said, and he wound up driving her to the coffee shop. She shook her head and made a mental note. She also needed to find her own apartment.

At the coffee shop, she found the owner and manager of the place wiping down tables. He straightened when she opened the door. "You okay?"

She smiled at him. "Yeah. What were you told?"

"Some guy in a suit came by and said you'd been taken into protective custody." He shrugged. "Something about an incident in Washington State before you came here."

Nicky knew then what had happened. Landy had covered for her. "Everything's fine," she said, falling smoothly into the cover story. "But. . . ."

Her boss's face fell. "You're leaving us."

"Yes."

He nodded, accepting her decision. "Well, I'm sorry to see you go. I know you were needing just a temporary job, but you're good at this."

Nicky thanked him, accepted a free coffee for her and Jason, who had followed her inside, and left after waving one last time to her former coworkers. Unless she followed through on her idea to open her own coffee shop, she'd be back often, and she wanted to maintain good relationships with everyone there.

Once back in the car, she let out a deep breath. Jason eyed her. "Better?"

She smiled. "Yeah. I'm now jobless and still apartment-less, but better."

He rolled his eyes at her dry tone and drove her back to Marta's. By the time they arrived, Aaron had spread his payroll paperwork across the table and was working on it while Marta sorted through work emails. Landy had covered for her as well, but Nicky knew her friend was considering the logistics and ethics of returning to a job that had bitten her in the behind not once, but twice.

Their big break came three days later. Aaron and Jason had been at separate computers, both men anxious to _do_ something that worked out some of the adrenaline. Aaron had spent that morning on the job site, working with Manuel and Bobby to just burn some energy. Jason had chosen to go for a run at dawn to do the same thing, but Nicky saw what the inactivity did to them. While it gave Aaron and Marta the chance to bond—and reminded Nicky that Jason had promised to pursue their relationship when this was over—it still wore on all of them.

Aaron perked up suddenly when his computer beeped. Nicky, as well as Landy, caught the way his head suddenly lifted from his palm, and both women hurried to him. He pointed wordlessly at the screen, not becoming too excited until he'd opened the email.

It was from one of the techs on Byer's payroll, a young man who had been a promising tech for Apple before Byer recruited him. Aaron had discounted him as the leak initially because he'd been so careful up until then. But during his time in New Mexico, he'd befriended one of the ranchers' daughters and had needed to send an email to her to let her know he was okay. He tried to be careful, but the CIA was ready for him.

Landy immediately whipped her team into action, ordering the techs to begin their trace and instructing Cronin to have a plane fueled and ready for them.

No one left the CIA office that night. Nicky, Jason, Aaron, and Marta watched, Marta biting her nails, as the techs spoke in Geek and typed faster than any of them thought possible. Landy occasionally asked for an update, but she left them to work for the most part. Finally, one tech crowed triumphantly. "We got him!"

Landy whirled. "Where?"

A set of GPS coordinates came up on the screen. "North of Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario. He's in Canada."

Landy stared at her tech. "You're sure?"

"Yes." The guy nodded emphatically. "The reason we haven't found anything is that no one made contact—obviously. We expected that, when they did, they'd do something like hopping onto secure WiFi or using an SSH Tunnel."

Aaron, who'd been sitting in a chair out of the way, lifted his head from his hand. "A what tunnel?"

"SSH Tunnel." The tech became more animated the longer he spoke. "Secure Shell Protocol. Basically, it's using a proxy server to make your connection."

Landy, who motioned for Cronin to prep the plane for a flight across the US-Canada border, nodded her understanding. "Not this guy?"

"Not this _time_." The tech shook his head. "This guy was an up and coming tech for Apple before he went rogue with Byer. He wouldn't make this mistake without cause. What probably happened is he used a computer other than his own so Byer couldn't track him, hopped on an unsecured WiFi connection, and sent his email. He probably thought we'd trace things back to the proxy computer he used, not his actual address."

Landy cut off the rest of his explanation with a raised hand. "Okay, it took us twelve hours to find him. We're on the clock. Let's get packed and out of here. I want to be in the air within the hour." She turned to Jason and Aaron. "You two ready?"

Aaron nodded, the venom on his face making Nicky smile. "Yes."

"Good." Landy glanced at the other two women who were waiting. "Let's get moving. I want Nicky there to help coordinate the logistics, and, Dr. Shearing, we may need your expertise if we're able to capture Vendel. Let's go."

oOo

The flight to Sault Ste. Marie took less than two hours. They landed quietly and disembarked, setting up their base of operations in the Best Western with minimal fuss. The CIA paid for the rooms, and the hotel was the best that the small city had to offer. Marta appreciated Landy's consideration in making certain she and Aaron shared a room, and she grinned at the tactfulness of the older woman. Landy had made certain two beds were available rather than just assuming they'd only need one. Instead of thinking about it too much, they made their way to the office space that the CIA had rented just for this use.

Within the hour, Aaron and Jason had a plan of action. Byer was hiding out in an abandoned house less than a hundred miles away from Sault Ste. Marie. He was likely using long-range WiFi to keep in touch with the outside world. It made the tech's job a bit harder when hopping onto an unsecured network, but it could be done. And it also made the mistake that much worse.

With a car fueled and waiting for them, Aaron pulled Marta to one side of the room. "Stay close," he said softly.

"I will." She tried to smile and failed. "Aaron. . . ."

He put his finger on her lips to keep her from saying anything. "I know. I'll be safe." Glancing over her shoulder, he saw that Landy and the rest of the room were trying to give them as much privacy as possible. He leaned in and planted a quick kiss on her lips. "I love you," he whispered.

She smiled then. "I love you, too."

Aaron and Jason left then, neither of them discussing their plans. They'd packed all the gear they would need and now had nothing left to do save drive to the location. The drive took nearly three hours as they stayed under the speed limit to avoid detection. Aaron drove, letting Jason rest his eyes to avoid a severe headache. They arrived near sunrise, and both men hefted heavy packs on their backs to make the hike.

Landy had spent the night mobilizing strike teams to take Byer down. They knew it, but they also called the shots. It was part of Aaron's agreement with Landy, one he'd struck during the time Marta had been in the hospital. Since Vendel was likely to be a major adversary, Landy hadn't complained. If Aaron and Jason managed to save the lives of the strike teams, then it was a win in her book.

The cottage came into view with the sun behind it as Aaron and Jason crept through the trees. They stayed low, using binoculars to watch throughout the day. The surveillance took some time, particularly in an attempt to avoid the roving patrols, and they made certain not to arouse suspicion of any kind. It tried the patience of both men, who had split up to watch opposite sides of the house.

Jason found the path leading to Ranger Lake. It wound through the forest but eventually ended up at an abandoned dock with a small speedboat hidden there. Aaron agreed that it was likely one of Byer's planned escapes should his position be compromised. Out here, there were only so many ways in and out. And a car in the forest when a team was moving in would be oh-so-noticable. The two men spent just a few moments sabotaging the engine so that no one could use it. If Byer decided to make a run for it using the boat, he'd have a pretty big surprise waiting for him.

Finally, they met back at the car after dark, connecting to Landy via a satellite phone. Aaron relayed guard shifts that he'd observed, with Jason confirming things. Finally, Landy had everything she needed. Her voice was certain when she spoke next. "Good. You have a go. Bring him in."

oOo

When Byer saw Vendel walk into the living room of their latest base, he knew something had changed. The rest of his group had slowly trickled in over the last week, trying not to draw too much attention to themselves with their activities. But Vendel's face showed absolute anger. He bent to speak directly into Byer's ear. "We have a problem."

Byer followed him, keeping a calm face while seething inwardly. In the bedroom, Vendel pointed to an email on the screen. Byer read it, shaking his head at his tech who had thought to contact some girl he'd met in Rodeo, New Mexico. Personal entanglements like this had always been a weakness for assets, hence why NRAG had come down so hard on agents like Outcome 3. But this was worse. In sending this email, the idiot had revealed their location to anyone watching for them. And Byer knew Cross and Bourne would be waiting.

He straightened. "Take care of it." The order was calm, and he waited until Vendel had left before he put his fist through the wall. The last two weeks had been spent fortifying the place, setting up guard patrols, and ensuring that no one could find them. And one stupid _idiot_ had jeopardized that by contacting his girlfriend.

He heard the front door open and close, the voices in the main room rising in surprise, and smiled. His leak had been plugged, but he couldn't know if he'd been compromised again.

oOo

Jason blinked as the door to the house opened, and Vendel dragged a young man out by the scruff of his neck. He keyed his comm unit. "We've got activity."

Aaron replied a moment later. "I see it." After a pause, he continued, "Vendel's taking him out to eliminate him. This is our leak."

Landy, who had been monitoring the chatter, chimed in. "Can you take Vendel and save the kid's life?"

Aaron sighed. "Possibly, but it would draw attention."

"Do it." Landy's order was firm. "Strike Teams, move in on my mark. We take Vendel and Byer at the same time."

Jason abandoned his post and moved to Aaron's side. An asset the likes of Vendel would give anyone a challenge, and they needed this to end as quietly as possible. As soon as Jason reached his side, Aaron took a deep breath and nodded. He keyed his mic. "This is Outcome 5," he said softly. "Standing by for orders."

~TBC


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note:** Alright, folks, this is it. The second-to-last chapter. Hope it holds up.

**Lisa:** LOL! I'm glad the Wednesday surprise was well-timed. I'm just ready to finish posting the story, and I've been so busy lately that writing anything new has been tough. But things are picking back up writing-wise, so I'm able to get more chapters out. Marta and Aaron always struck me as the type to be comfortable with others knowing about their relationship, and I'm glad that came across. And Nicky owning a coffee shop. . . .Well, the idea stuck in my head and wouldn't let go. So very glad you're enjoying the story!

**Guest:** LOL! No worries on the fangirling. :) And thank you for the compliments. I would love to see a movie with all three of these guys in it, too.

As always, I hope everyone enjoys the chapter! ~lg

oOo

"Strike teams, move in." Landy's firm order echoed through Jason's ear. Without a glance to Aaron, he burst out of the trees and tackled Vendel. The gun in the other asset's hand went flying as Aaron made his move, getting the tech out of the way as Vendel's attention was turned to Jason. Over their comm links, they heard the strike teams coordinating their attack, and the entire forest erupted in a chaotic blend of shouts and gunfire.

Vendel kept his eyes on Jason as the pair of them circled one another. Jason watched the other asset's eyes, seeing the deadness there and realizing he faced an enemy who would do whatever he could to survive. Vendel had no morals, and he didn't care who got hurt in the process. Aaron had been right in saying Vendel's programming made him one scary person.

Then, Vendel made his move, striking out so quickly Jason almost missed it in the dark. He leaned out of the way, feeling the rush of air that passed his face from Vendel's fist. As he bent back, he grabbed Vendel's arm and planted his hand on the guy's elbow, wrenching it out of joint. Instead of shouting in pain like any other human being would, Vendel grunted and threw a second punch with his left hand. That one connected to Jason's head and sent him flying through the air.

For just a second, Jason was stunned. He shook his head to clear it, surprised at Vendel's strength, and blinked when he saw Aaron dart out of the forest. The Outcome agent moved so quickly Jason had a hard time following him, but Vendel's attention had been diverted from Jason. It gave Jason the time he needed to get back into the game.

When he saw Jason back on his feet, Vendel swatted at Aaron, pushing him away as if he were nothing more than a troublesome bug. Jason had just enough time to block an incoming blow before he managed to deliver a solid punch to Vendel's midsection. He followed it up with a quick kick that threw the asset off of him.

Over the comms, one of the strike team leaders shouted that Byer had managed to slip their net. Not inconceivable given the short amount of time the CIA had to plan this sting. Aaron shared one quick glance with Jason before he took off through the woods, leaving Jason to face Vendel alone. Vendel took advantage of his momentary distraction and attacked again.

The fight continued, neither man gaining any level of dominance. When Jason drew his sidearm, Vendel knocked it out of his hand. When Vendel rolled close enough to one of the two guns on the forest floor, Jason tackled him to get him away from it. Vendel shoved Jason into a tree, and Jason felt his back pop as his head cracked against the bark. He used the leverage the tree provided, however, to lift both feet off the ground and shove Vendel backward with a powerful kick.

Vendel tripped on a branch and fell, cracking his head on a rock. Jason watched as the man paused, blinking and shaking his head as if stunned. The confusion on Vendel's face made Jason wonder if a little cognitive recalibration was all the other man needed. The confusion cleared quickly, however, and Vendel roared as he surged to his feet. He attacked so quickly Jason could do nothing more than block his blows for a few moments before he sacrificed an opening to his kidney to grab on to Vendel's waist and twist, throwing the other man to the ground. Then, climbing onto him, he returned the favor Vendel had given him by raining quick, powerful jabs into Vendel's face.

But something was different. Vendel seemed to shake off everything Jason put into his attacks, and he bucked with his hips, throwing Jason off balance. When Jason tried to compensate, Vendel sat up suddenly, head-butting him and sending him back, his arms pinwheeling. For the first time in a very long time, Jason had been outclassed in a fight, and he landed on the ground—again—as his breath left him.

He needed to do something to end this. During the last two weeks, he'd read everything he could on the LARX program and knew only permanent death stopped them. Which meant Vendel was likely the same way unless he found the man's trigger phrase. Unfortunately, the files didn't contain that bit of information, and throwing out random phrases was about as effective as shooting in the dark and hoping to hit his target.

His fist closed around a fallen branch, and Jason struck out. He caught Vendel off guard enough to throw the man backward. Using the momentum he'd gained, he rolled to his feet and pressed his advantage. The branch gave him reach and leverage, adding more power to his strikes. He saw blood stream down Vendel's face and knew he'd broken skin. But it wasn't enough to stop Vendel. Not without rendering him unconscious. And, based on what he knew about LARX agents, that would take a _lot_ of power.

Something changed after Jason got ahold of the branch. Up until then, Vendel had done a great job of defending himself and keeping Jason off balance. But the inclusion of the branch seemed to change the game. Vendel still tried to strike with his fists and the occasional rock, but Jason had the advantage. All he could figure was that Vendel's training had been lacking somehow. Or that first blow—the one where he seemed disoriented—had left him concussed. Either way, Jason used the change to his advantage, driving Vendel backward and into a tree. Pure instinct took over, and he turned the branch until he could press it against Vendel's throat.

Vendel kicked out, performing a similar maneuver to what Jason had done just moments before. It was enough to loosen Jason's hold on the branch, giving Vendel room to maneuver. Seeing that he was out of time, Jason dove for the location where he thought the gun might have fallen. His head ached, and he couldn't take much more thanks to Vendel's superior strength and speed. But he had everything he needed the moment his fingers closed around the stock of a gun. Rolling onto his back, he brought it up to bear in time to see Vendel had already found the second gun.

The shot echoed through the woods.

oOo

After glancing at Jason and seeing the Treadstone operative had Vendel under control, Aaron took off through the woods. The previous day, he'd scouted the path that led to the lake and now found it in the moonlight, knowing Byer would make a run for the boat. The strike teams had the house covered, most of those inside being techs or analysts. The roving patrol of guards had been neutralized first, and the teams would scour the area to find anyone that might have slipped their net.

But Byer would not escape. Not when Aaron was so close to putting the man who had hunted him and Marta down for good. Landy was under no illusions about Aaron's intentions concerning Byer, and she had said nothing about keeping him alive. Aaron knew he should try to take Byer into custody if he could, but he doubted the other man would let him. Not when he'd gone so far to revive NRAG and had actually managed to capture Marta. None of them would be able to move on if Byer lived.

As the path curved around toward Ranger Lake, Aaron caught a glimpse of Byer. The taller, thinner man responsible for Outcome glanced over his shoulder, slowing down slightly as he recognized Aaron. He whirled and ran for all he was worth, trying desperately to put distance between himself and the Outcome agent behind him. Aaron held steady, knowing Byer didn't have the same stamina and would eventually slow down.

And he did. Aaron managed to close the gap before Byer put on another quick burst of speed. They arrived at the dock, then, with Byer jumping into the boat. He yanked on the cord that would start the engine, cursing under his breath when it failed.

Then, Aaron was on him. He launched himself from the path, knocking Byer out of the boat and into the water. The resulting splash and sudden cold startled both men, though Aaron recovered quicker. He found his footing and yanked Byer to his feet with every intention of cuffing the man and taking him into custody.

Byer had other ideas. He had gone for a gun while he fell, and he now pressed it into Aaron's stomach. Aaron batted it away just as it went off, and he felt the bullet crease his side. With the first blood drawn between them, he had no problems defending himself. He slammed Byer's wrist against the edge of the boat, dislodging the gun and sending it tumbling into the dark water. Byer brought up his other hand and slammed it directly into Aaron's ear, causing him to stumble at the sudden pain.

Disengaging from one another, Byer took a couple steps backward as Aaron shook his head to clear the pain from his ear. The moonlight illuminated the calculating expression, and Aaron waited. Byer was a strategist, and he never made a move without having a plan. It had kept him alive all this time and had helped him stay on Aaron's trail for so long. The only reason Aaron and the CIA had gotten this close was because Byer's tech had made a foolish move.

But Aaron could also wait. He'd been enhanced just for this purpose, and he knew his and Marta's future rested on what he did right here and now. He had to be able to live with his actions, and he could cope with killing Byer in cold blood. But Marta couldn't. And Aaron couldn't bear to see the disappointment in her eyes.

The standoff lasted for three minutes. Aaron counted them, and they felt a lot longer. Byer moved to his left, slowly trying to turn Aaron so he had a chance to make a run for the forest. If he could do that, then he'd lose Aaron in the darkness. With his overly-sensitive hearing, it would be easy to confuse Aaron.

But Aaron didn't give. He simply kept his eyes on Byer, turning his head as needed. Then, when Byer finally made his move, he was ready. He swept out one leg and brought Byer down and into the rushes and mud at the side of the lake. Blinking water out of his eyes, Aaron pounced on the man, grabbing hold of his leg as Byer tried to crawl to shore. Byer kicked out at him, connecting with the side of Aaron's face, and Aaron felt the man's shoe scrape his head. But he didn't let go. Instead, he followed Byer to shore and got to firmer footing than the muddy edge of the water.

Byer sneered at him. "You think it's over with my death? You have no idea."

Aaron barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes at the drama of it all. "It is over. After this, I'll go back to my life, and you'll go back to prison."

"I'm not going to prison." The cold, almost emotionless way Byer said that told Aaron everything he needed to know about his state of mind. Aaron knew it was pointless to explain how the CIA would place him in a maximum security facility and throw away the key, if they didn't just outright execute him for killing so many of their agents in Chicago.

Instead, he stepped back. "I won't kill you in cold blood."

Byer blinked at him, obviously surprised by the statement. "Why? You've never had a problem with it before."

"Maybe you don't remember our conversation about sin eaters." Aaron's stomach still turned as he thought about how Byer had once justified the murder of innocent civilians so their "cause could stay pure." "But I do. And no matter how guilty you are, I won't murder you. I won't give you the satisfaction. But I'm not letting you escape, either."

Byer charged him then, trying to tackle him and throw him off balance. Aaron sidestepped the charge, using Byer's own momentum to crack his head against the side of the boat and shattering the old windshield in the process. Byer shook off the blow, whirling and bringing a sharp piece of broken glass to bear. He swiped at Aaron several times, slow enough the Outcome agent was able to dodge the blows. Aaron knew Byer's game. Byer wanted to goad him into making a mistake. But Byer didn't quite understand Aaron's game.

Wrestling the man to the ground, Aaron managed to get to the zip ties he'd tucked into one pocket, tightening them around Byer's wrists until they cut into his skin. He hauled the man to his feet and, with a deep sigh, marched him down the path to the cabin where Byer had taken refuge for the last few weeks.

It was over. Byer was back in custody, and Aaron intended to see to it that he stayed that way.

oOo

In the crisis suite, Marta paced while she listened to the strike teams over the comms. She heard Aaron's soft statement, making his call sign "Outcome 5," and understood. Aaron had fully accepted who and what he was, and he planned to use it against Byer.

The rest of the op went quickly, with the strike teams moving into the cabin and herding up the techs and analysts that Byer had hired. All of them were placed under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason, and they'd be executed if convicted. Landy intended to add the deaths of the two strike teams killed in Chicago to those charges. But Marta couldn't relax with the successful execution of the sting. Not until she heard two specific voices over the comms. Beside her, Nicky waited with the same tension as a gunshot rang through the speakers, and then they heard Jason's tired sigh.

"Vendel is down," he said with a grunt. Nicky breathed a deep sigh of relief, but Marta couldn't. Not yet.

Landy glanced at her. "Outcome 5, report."

For a long moment, nothing came over the speakers. Then, Aaron keyed his mic. "This is Outcome 5. I've got Byer in custody and heading back to camp."

The relief that flowed through Marta made her knees shake, but she refused to sit down. Aaron hadn't killed Byer. A large part of her was thankful he'd made that call, but a small portion of her mind wished he'd pulled the trigger. Byer could always escape from another prison, but he couldn't escape death. But that wasn't Aaron. That wasn't the man she'd fallen in love with, and she knew why he'd held back on his own need to avenge everything done to her. He loved her, and he'd give everything for her.

Just as she would for him.

oOo

Jason and Aaron's return was greeted with cheers and celebrations. Both men had taken a beating, with Jason's condition the worst of the two, and they were completely exhausted. Nicky watched from the edge of the room as Aaron smiled tiredly while hugging Marta. The virologist buried her face in his neck, thankful the man she loved was going to be okay, and Nicky wished she was free to do the same thing. But she and Jason had not discussed their relationship since the night he warned her about Aaron's hearing. So, she settled for allowing her eyes to rove over the cuts and bruises from his fight with Vendel as he moved across the room to her.

After the initial cheering, Landy turned her people back to packing their equipment for their trip home. Byer had already been escorted back to the United States under heavy guard, where he'd be placed in CIA custody until his transfer to a maximum security prison. She had already explained that she'd oversee it personally, thus ensuring that both Aaron and Jason could return to their lives.

Nicky listened to all of this with one ear as she stared at Jason. He stopped in front of her. "You okay?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"Good." For a long moment, he didn't quite look like he knew what to do, then he turned to Landy. "You need us anymore?"

Landy glanced between Jason and Nicky. "No. Just make sure your report is submitted to me within twenty-four hours. I'll expect to see you back in Chicago in no more than one week for a full debrief. At that time, we can discuss your continuing status with the agency."

Nicky saw the slight smile that touched Jason's face, and she had only seconds to prepare before he took her hand and dragged her out of the room. Aaron and Marta had already vacated the premises, likely headed back to their hotel so Marta could assure herself that Aaron would be okay. She wanted to do the same with Jason, but he didn't stop moving until he reached their room. Then, he simply said, "Pack."

Even as she grabbed her bag and began tossing things inside, she frowned. "Jason?"

He had slipped into the bathroom to collect his toiletries and now returned, stopping to settle his hands at her waist while glancing at the walls around them. "I made you a promise about Aaron's hearing, remember?" He grinned when she did. "I figured I'd keep that promise."

Nicky needed no further prompting to finish her packing. Within the hour, Jason had checked both of them out of the hotel and tucked her into a car, turning them in the same direction he'd just come. For the next two hours, Nicky enjoyed the Canadian scenery, not saying a word but holding Jason's hand just the same. The way his thumb moved across her knuckles every now and then was enough for her, and she grinned when he stopped in front of a quaint-looking bed and breakfast. Byer's arrest made international news, turning Jason and Aaron into celebrities overnight. But here, at this white clapboard two-story house, they were just another young couple.

Once upstairs, however, Jason dropped the strong and silent act. He allowed Nicky to set her bag on the bed before he reached for her hand. Tugging her into his arms, he then kissed her the way she remembered from Paris. This time, he didn't stop them or complain when she needed to see that he really would be okay. And, when she finally fell asleep that night, she smiled as she realized she'd managed to discover something she'd never thought she'd find: a love that spanned the years and changed with her life. In the end, she loved Jason Bourne, but she loved this Jason more than she'd loved the one she'd known in Paris. This Jason was _her_ Jason, unlike the first one. Back then, he'd belonged to Treadstone and had simply discovered her along the way. This time, Jason had come to find her in Seattle, and she had never been so grateful that he had.

oOo

Like Nicky and Jason, Aaron and Marta spent the night in one another's arms, reassuring themselves that it really had ended. Aaron told Marta everything about his confrontation with Byer, ending with his reasons why he didn't kill the man who had chased them across the world. In the end, it came down to what Marta would want. She had listened with her head propped in her hand as he worked through the reality that he had spared the life of his mortal enemy. The concern on his face gave way, however, when he turned to look at her with her hair around her shoulders and the smile she'd been unable to hide. She had him back in her life, and they were once again free to be together. This time was different than the last. Back then, they'd been thrown together out of circumstance. This time, they _chose_ their path.

When Marta pointed that out to Aaron, he grinned and hitched himself up on his elbow. A long, slow kiss reignited the passion that had taken over the minute they reached they hotel room, and they decided to forget Byer, Landy, Jason, Nicky, and anyone else associated with anything that didn't have anything to do with that moment. Right then, they had each other, and that was the only thing that mattered.

oOo

Leaving two very happy couples in Canada, Pamela Landy returned to the United States with Ric Byer's arrest under her belt. After bringing down NRAG and all of the corrupt CIA officials attached to the Treadstone and Blackbriar programs, she'd become something of a celebrity. Now, she had another impressive capture to her name. She hadn't done it for the glory, however, and she refused to take much credit. Cross and Bourne had done most of the work, going into Byer's compound and getting the intel they needed to make the arrest. But she happily escorted Byer to prison.

This time, Vendel wasn't around to create a diversion or aid in an escape. This time, Byer's armored van was met with a police escort, and Landy watched out the front of her car as he was driven directly to Langley. The deaths of her teams in Chicago along with his crimes against law-abiding citizens of the United States—including but not limited to the kidnapping of Dr. Marta Shearing—made Byer a prisoner to be kept under very close guard. At Langley, she watched as a heavily armored set of guards hauled a cuffed Byer from the van and toward his new home for the near future.

Things changed in just a few moments, however. Byer yanked his arm away from the guards and took off at a run. Until that moment, he hadn't shown any sign of resisting, so they hadn't thought to put shackles on his feet. It wasn't Landy's call, and she had warned the officers guarding Byer not to underestimate him.

With the prisoner on the loose, the guards reacted as they should have. They opened fire. Byer stopped and turned around, looking directly at Landy with that same arrogant smirk he'd always worn. And she knew. Reaching for her personal sidearm, one she always carried with her in the field, she drew it and shouted a warning as Byer started running at her. He didn't stop, and she pulled the trigger. The bullets hit their target, and he fell.

The sick feeling in her stomach was only mitigated by her sense of duty to her country. She hated killing, but she had no problems doing so to protect herself or her nation. Taking a deep breath, Pamela Landy left the facility, letting them clean up the mess, and found a private corner where she could retreat and let herself grieve for the men she'd lost in Chicago. Their deaths—and the chaos Ric Byer had caused Aaron Cross and countless others—had finally been avenged.

~TBC


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Note: **Well, folks, here it is. The final chapter. A huge thank-you to everyone who read and reviewed. I hope you enjoyed the story!

**Lisa:** LOL! I wasn't sad Byer's dead! Seriously, I worried that Chapter 17 wasn't all that climactic with Aaron not killing Byer, but it made sense. Byer was trying to goad him into something, and Aaron refused to give him the satisfaction.

All that said, I hope you all enjoy this chapter! ~lg

oOo

One Month Later. . . .

Dr. Marta Shearing walked into the hospital with a smile on her face. Following her reunion with Aaron, she'd left her job in the research lab and now lived in Arlington Heights while working as a consultant for the CIA, though it wasn't the busiest of jobs. They'd returned to the house Aaron had so lovingly redesigned for her and had spent their days building something that would last for the rest of their lives. Marta took every opportunity she could to show Aaron that she meant what she'd said after her kidnapping, and she'd watched his smile return to his face. He became less broody and more the man she remembered, and she wondered why she'd waited so long to finally surrender to him.

That surrender went both ways. Just as she'd fully given herself to Aaron, he'd given himself to her. The partnership they now shared was no longer cumbersome to her, and she'd never been more at peace. They talked often of Sydney and Johannesburg, but the liberty they had _now_ outweighed anything they'd shared before. This time together was their choice, and they reveled in the ability to make that choice.

But the effects of Byer's actions lingered. When Landy called to tell them that Ric Byer was dead, Aaron had taken off for several days. Marta let him, understanding now more than ever that he needed to get his head straight. He returned after camping out in his truck for three days with a clear conscience and even clearer eyes. Byer's life had never been his to take, no matter how much he longed for it, and growing angry or bitter would only destroy him. He had chosen to be the better man, and he had accepted that decision.

In addition to the trauma that still gave Marta nightmares occasionally, she'd suffered from a sense of lethargy and illness ever since her brief captivity. The CIA doctors kept a close eye on her, insisting on monthly blood tests to determine if she would suffer any lingering side effects from the drug she'd been given. The lethargy had been even worse over the last several weeks, and she hoped to find out what to do to counteract it this visit. Yesterday, her blood had been drawn, and her reaction to the drug meant she'd have results today.

At the doctor's office, Marta waited her turn as she used her phone to scroll through an online catalog. She and Aaron had finally decided to redecorate the center bedroom, and she'd been gathering their ideas in one list to start shopping. After returning to Chicago and moving in with Aaron, she'd sold the plus apartment to Nicky. It made Marta's worries about selling it a nonissue, and they spent one evening a week with the other couple. Jason and Nicky had finally settled into their own relationship, and Aaron admitted one night that he couldn't have been more relieved about that. The angst that had existed between those two gave him headaches, and he saw Jason making bigger steps toward integrating into "civilian life" since he and Nicky spent those few days at Ranger Lake.

When her name was called, Marta followed the nurse back to the examination room and settled into a chair. Today, the doctor appeared quickly, which surprised her. She smiled at him, waiting for the other shoe to drop, when he sat down. "Your blood tests came back, and I can safely say you're not suffering any lingering effects. We'll continue to keep a close eye on you in the coming months, but I don't believe it'll be a problem."

Marta blinked at him. "It won't?"

"No." He handed her the page with her lab results. "Your problems are of a slightly different nature."

Marta stared at the page, her jaw dropping as she looked over the results. She read them three times to be certain and then thanked the doctor for his time. Driving back to Arlington Heights, she wondered just how to break the news to Aaron. When she found him in the center bedroom, she knew.

He turned when she came in. "Hey, what did the doctor say?"

"I'm fine." She walked to his side, smiling when he pulled her into his arms and nuzzled a kiss into her neck. He did that often, and it never failed to send a shiver down her spine.

"So," he asked as he held her close, "what do you think we should do? The browns?" He tilted his head away from hers so he could see her face. "Or more blues?"

She grinned impishly. "Actually, I was thinking about a crib over there," she said, pointing to the wall on their right. "A changing table could go on the other side of the room, and the dormer window would make a great place to put a rocker."

Aaron tensed up the moment the word "crib" came out of her mouth. As she continued to outline her ideas for a nursery, he abruptly took her shoulders and turned her to face him. "Marta? A _nursery_?" He blinked. "You're. . . ." His eyes dropped to her still-flat belly as he struggled to find the right words.

She nodded, smiling at the absolute shock and hope in his eyes. "My blood work came back today, Aaron. I'm four weeks pregnant." She shrugged. "If you do the math, it happened. . . ."

"The night we caught Byer." He almost whispered the words as he slid one hand down her arm to hover over her abdomen where their unborn child now lived. He blinked several times, not hiding the tears that her announcement brought. "We're gonna be parents?"

Marta nodded again. Aaron stared for a moment longer, and then he grabbed her in a tight hug and spun her around, laughing and crying at the same time. She understood. He'd always thought a family and life in the suburbs was out of his reach, first because of his difficulties as Kenneth Kitsom and then his life in Outcome. But all that changed when they captured Byer the second time.

Setting her down almost as quickly as he'd picked her up, Aaron's eyes widened. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No, Aaron, you didn't." Marta smiled. "And you won't."

He took her face gently in his hands and kissed her slowly, lingering but not turning it into anything more than that moment. When he pulled back, his smile stretched across his face. "A baby," he whispered, pressing their foreheads together. "I'm gonna be a dad!"

Marta laughed. "And I'm gonna be a mom." She draped her arms over his shoulders.

He scowled for just a moment and then held up a finger. "Wait right here." He left the room before she had a chance to answer, returning a few minutes later with something in his hands and an uncertain expression on his face. Instead of taking her in his arms again, he licked his lips and carefully examined the box. "I had this planned differently, and I was gonna wait for another time. But. . . ." He lifted his eyes to look at her, offering the small velvet box. "I want to do this now."

Marta took it, already knowing what was inside. She opened it and smiled when she saw the rings. He'd bought her a beautiful yellow gold set with a round-cut diamond. The edges of the diamond were sheathed in the gold, with two smaller stones flanking it and the wedding band that followed the same curves along one side. "Aaron, it's beautiful!"

His hands slipped over hers, and he waited until she looked up to keep speaking. "I was gonna take you to dinner and get down on one knee and everything, but. . . ." He smiled. "I want our baby to have more than just a home and parents who love him. I want it all—with _you_." He obviously looked for the right words to continue but failed. "Marry me, Marta."

"Yes." She laughed, though she had to blink back tears. During their time on the run, they'd thought they would never have this sort of commitment between them. To marry then meant giving Byer leverage over them. But Byer would never hurt them or their child again, and Marta happily wrapped her arms around Aaron as she kissed him soundly. He slipped her ring on her finger, and they spent the next few hours planning just how to decorate the nursery for their son or daughter.

Just under three months later, Aaron and Marta married one another in a quiet ceremony in their back yard. Pam Landy appeared along with Tom Cronin. Jason was best man while Nicky stood as Marta's maid of honor. The reception was filled with plenty of congratulations, both for their marriage and the recent revelation that Marta was carrying twins. Aaron took her back to Sydney, Australia, for their honeymoon, to the same hotel where they'd stayed when they first confessed their love one for another. This time, they openly enjoyed the hotel's amenities and took the time to see the local sights. Aaron escorted her to a show at the Opera Hall, and Marta soaked in all the sun she could get. Then, they returned to Chicago and winter to prepare for the birth of their children.

After their honeymoon, Marta returned to the research lab for a short time. Aaron's upgrades had been done on a genetic level, and she worried about what he could pass on to their children. His physical upgrades and higher intelligence? Or perhaps his difficulties before Outcome? She had an instinctual need to know everything and be as prepared as possible.

One week before her due date, a very tired Marta went into labor. Aaron stayed at her side, almost coming apart with worry while Nicky and Jason paced the waiting room. No one was more relieved than Marta when she finally gave birth to perfect twin boys, Nicholas Aaron and Jason Thomas, named for the closest friends they had. Both Nicky and Jason were speechless when introduced to their "nephews," and Aaron proudly watched Marta sleep while the two former Treadstone members cooed and cuddled his sons.

oOo

Jason and Nicky didn't decide to marry as quickly as Aaron and Marta. They'd known since they returned from Ranger Lake that they needed to work out their issues before jumping into a commitment. Nicky bought Marta's apartment, and it gave them the distance they needed from Aaron and Marta. Jason continued to work for Aaron, ultimately choosing to become Aaron's business partner instead of just an employee. It allowed both men to consult for the CIA on cases that involved their specific skill sets while giving them the focus they needed in their daily lives. Jason moved in with Nicky, and they often fought with one another as much as they loved each other as Jason struggled to remember and Nicky tried to forget. They ultimately decided, after three months of a back-and-forth that left them exhausted, to let the past be the past. After that, they found a sense of peace and equilibrium in their relationship.

A week after Marta and Aaron took their sons home, Jason found Nicky at the dining table, papers spread out in front of her. She'd decided to open her own coffee shop, and the particulars of becoming a business owner were almost as challenging as her work for Treadstone. Both she and Marta had a need to leave their classified work in the past and move forward into the future.

Nicky glanced up when Jason paused uncertainly next to her. He'd come home an hour ago, tired from work and needing a shower after a day spent sanding old cabinets. Nicky had teased him about going prematurely gray but sent him on to the bathroom with a promise to have dinner ready. She'd kept that promise, but her latest struggle—picking a name for her coffee shop—currently escaped her. She threw down her pen and covered her face with her hands. "I didn't know this would be so hard!"

Jason pulled out the chair and sat down. "Nicky." His tone worried her. He hadn't used that tone with her in months. Ever since Byer died and he'd made the decision to stay with her in Chicago, he'd tried to be more open. They'd made progress, too, and he had learned to let her in a little more each day. Now, he simply stared at her for a long moment before shaking his head. A rueful grin touched his face, and he studied his hands. "Have you thought about _Le V__é__ritable Amour_?"

Nicky blinked. "True love?" When he shrugged, she considered it. "I can see where it would be a catchy phrase for a coffee shop. After all, a lot of people think they can't get through the day without coffee. I could do a French feel, offer pastries and such. . . ."

"What if _we_ chose a French feel, and _we_ offered pastries and such?"

She frowned at him, the hand that had reached for her pen pausing in mid-air. "Jason? You want to go into business with me? Even though you're already Aaron's business partner? Isn't that kind of. . .I don't know. . .hard?"

He snorted. "Others do it all the time, but no. That's not what I had in mind." He reached for the hand still hovering over her pen and pulled it to him. "What I had in mind was that we open the coffee shop as a symbol of our new life together. Then, you run it however you think it needs to be run, but it would be in both our names, as Jason and Nicky _Bourne_."

She blinked again, several times, as his meaning came home to her. "Jason Bourne, are you proposing to me?"

He laughed. "Yeah, I guess I am." He looked around. "Do you want me to get down on one knee?" Without waiting for her answer, he pushed his chair back and dropped to one knee, taking her hand and asking in a formal tone, "Nicolette Parsons, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

Nicky stared at him for a long moment. She had honestly never expected him to propose and had been happy to live with him and have him to herself. Jason's struggle to settle into civilian life had resulted in more than a few arguments and misunderstandings, but they'd always worked through it. Now, she tried to find her voice, which seemed to have gone MIA the minute Jason dropped to one knee. Finally, she managed to nod and whisper, "Yes!"

The relieved grin that immediately came to his face told her just how nervous he'd been, and he pulled her to her feet as he stood, thoroughly distracting her from her paperwork with a scorching kiss. He produced a velvet bag from his pocket and slipped a simple white gold band on her finger with three princess-cut diamonds. It was elegant and understated and everything Nicky would have wanted, even back in Paris.

That evening, she allowed Jason to distract her from anything business-related. The next morning, she woke to the knowledge that they'd soon be married. But she didn't want to wait. She wanted to be Nicky Bourne _now_, not three or six months from now.

Jason had already gone for his morning run and was cooking breakfast when she appeared. He kissed her, offering her traditional cup of coffee a moment later. Nicky took it and leaned against the counter. "So, how do you feel about not having a wedding?" she asked after she'd had her first sip.

Jason froze over the stove, turning to frown at her. "You _don't_ want to get married?"

"Oh, I want to get married." She met his eyes. "I don't want to _wait_ six months or more to get married."

"We don't have to." He finished cooking the bacon and removed it from the pan, turning off the heat to continue their conversation. "We can choose any day we want."

Nicky took a moment to weigh her options in her head. "How does tomorrow sound?"

Jason had been taking a sip of his own coffee when she said it, and he choked. "Tomorrow?"

She shrugged. "Like I said, I'm impatient."

He pulled her into his arms. "I love the idea, but some of our friends might want more time. Like Landy. She may not be able to get here that quickly."

Nicky admitted he had a point. The last nine months or so had helped her put her issues with the CIA to rest. She still didn't want to work for them, but she had become decent friends with Landy. "So, day after tomorrow?"

Jason chuckled. "How about the soonest that Landy can be here?"

Nicky checked the clock and reached for the phone. "If I know Pam, she's already in the office."

This time, Jason threw back his head and truly laughed. Nicky wanted to laugh with him, but she was too nervous. If she waited six months, she might talk herself out of this. And she wanted to be with Jason too much to let herself be talked out of it.

Seeing the expression on her face, Jason dutifully dialed from memory. A moment later, he smiled. "Pam. How do you feel about a trip to Chicago in the next couple of days?" He eyed Nicky. "No, nothing's wrong. I'm just getting married and wanted you to be here."

Landy's loud gasp of surprise, followed by a muffled curse, made both of them blink. She came back on the line to tell them that she'd spilled her fresh coffee all over Tom Cronin, who now needed to know exactly what would rattle Pamela Landy to the point she dropped her cup. Jason put the phone on speaker while Pam explained to Cronin that _Jason Bourne_ was getting married. Both Jason and Nicky dissolved into laughter when Tom finally got over his speechlessness and said, "Well, I guess I just lost the pool. I was betting it would take two years!"

Seventy-two hours later, Nicky and Jason said their vows in front of a Justice of the Peace with Aaron, Marta, Landy, and Tom Cronin present. The Cross twins were also there but slept through the entire event. The JOP seemed a little surprised that _the_ Jason Bourne would come to her for his marriage vows, but she recovered well. When it was all said and done, the small group went to Arlington Heights and shared dinner in Aaron and Marta's recently-finished home. Landy got to hold both of the twins, dubbing herself "Aunty Landy," and Tom shook his head and shuddered. He'd been Landy's assistant for a long time, and he looked at her as an older sister.

For their honeymoon, Jason and Nicky returned to Paris. They rented the same flat they'd shared during their Treadstone days, smiling when they realized it hadn't changed a bit. After a month, they flew back in to Chicago ready to face their life together. The day they landed, Nicky found the paperwork she'd put aside in favor of marrying Jason and filled in _Le V__é__ritable Amour_ as her coffee shop's name.

oOo

Ten years later. . . .

The Cross house bustled with activity from one end to the next. The grill in the back sent a heavenly scent throughout the neighborhood, and children squealed as they chased one another around. The guest house had been ultimately been torn down to make more room for the play area, and neither Aaron nor Jason had been sorry to see it go. It had never been finished after Jason moved to Chicago, and both men felt it reflected a time that they would just as soon have forgotten. Or, rather, left in the past. Now, the entire area was covered in rich green grass, and a custom play ground had been tucked into the corner, leaving the rest of the yard for the adults that congregated around the grill or mingled with one another.

Manuel and Bobby still worked for Aaron and Jason, both of them foremen in the very successful C&B Home Restoration and Construction Company. Manuel had married his girlfriend a year after Aaron and Marta were wed, and he'd turned his life around. He still had moments where his criminal past came to the surface, but he'd learned to control himself and overcome it. Bobby and his girl never tied the knot. She succumbed to cancer five years after Aaron and Marta married, and the big biker still grieved for her. Her death had softened him, as had the Cross children, and they all loved taking rides on his motorcycle.

Jason and Nicky's son, David Kenneth Bourne, came into the world a little over two years after they married, and the little family still lived in the apartment they'd purchased from Marta. The eight-year-old spent as much time with his aunt and uncle in Arlington Heights as he did with his parents, a result of the close friendship between the two couples, and fights were common between David and the Cross twins. All the children had been taught self-defense from a young age, and having fathers like Jason Bourne and Aaron Cross meant family get-togethers were often broken up with either Nicky or Marta fussing at one or the other of their sons to "not put your cousin in a choke hold!"

Three years after the birth of their twins, Aaron and Marta welcomed little Kenzie Christine Cross to the world. Her first name was a nod to Aaron's previous identity as Kenneth Kitsom, and they'd chosen her middle name to honor Marta's sister. Now, at seven years old, she was as precocious as her brothers and knew just how to play to her daddy's sympathies. Aaron was wise to his daughter's antics, however, and tried to stay fair with his children.

Kenzie's birth was difficult on Marta, however, and both she and Aaron made the decision to take precautions against any more children. They already had more than what they'd ever dreamed, both of them having thought only one child was out of reach. Now, they had three.

These days, neither of the couples thought much about the events surrounding Byer and his attempt to rebuild NRAG. They'd both left that life behind, and even Landy had retired to Chicago to be closer to her adopted family. Aunty Landy, as she'd become known, made the rounds with tall glasses of iced tea while Manuel and Bobby talked shop and Jason corralled children. Tom Cronin, who had taken Landy's place as a deputy director, had sent his regrets that he couldn't make the barbecue. Aaron flipped burgers on the grill, smiling at what his life had become.

He had everything he and Marta had shared in Sydney, Australia that first year. And more. He could not think of another way his life should have gone, and, as he watched his children play with their friends and cousin, he nodded. Across the yard, Jason caught his eye, and he knew the other man was thinking the same thing. _Men like us are never free._ The words Jason had spoken to him years ago floated through Aaron's head, and his smile widened. They had fought to prove those words wrong and won. Jason returned his nod.

They had lived in two separate worlds, and they'd brought those worlds together. That made everything worth it.

_~The End~_


End file.
